Traitor
by SingularToast
Summary: What if Nizam never attacked Dastan? What if his brothers believed their Uncle over him? An alternative ending to the Prince of Persia movie, and events thereafter.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Traitor  
**Pairing/Characters:** Bis, Dastan, Garsiv, Hassansins, Nizam, Sharaman, Tamina, Tus, Zolm & OCs  
**Rating/Warnings:** PG+ for violence and character death in later chapters  
**Summary:** What if Nizam never attacked Dastan on the stairs? What if Dastan's brothers believed their Uncle over him? An alternative ending to the Prince of Persia movie, and events thereafter.  
**Spoilers:** Yes, for the events of the movie  
**Disclaimer:** _Prince of Persia_ does not belong to me

* * *

Nizam's hand had gripped his sword, and Dastan recalled the moment of sick satisfaction he had felt. If only he had drawn the brutal blade and attacked him, proving to the entire congregation that the words he had spoken were true. Then Nizam's fate would have been sealed and his family would never have to know of the threat he posed to the world around them. But his Uncle had dropped the hilt of his sword, raising his hands and stepping back. He'd beseeched his brother then, using the very same words that their father had spoken to Tus in private to try and sway him to believe his cause, but Tus had also grown in their wise father's shadow – he was ever the honourable Prince, and sought for the third man, the spy, to give them the deciding answer. Unfortunately for Dastan, the spy was more easily located than he thought, and quite loyal to Nizam.

Garsiv struggled to hold him, his gauntlets biting into the Prince's flesh, but Dastan ignored the pain. He had to convince them that they had this wrong. "Please brother," he begged Tus, eyes pleading with him to understand, to believe. "You're making a mistake, Nizam—"

"Nizam is our Uncle, and our father's most trusted adviser! How dare you call treason on his name, after everything else you've done?" Tus was furious, but everyone could see his internal struggle. The three brothers had been thick as thieves ever since Dastan had been brought to the palace as a young urchin boy. They had been inseparable, and the bond they shared was legendary. Everyone knew they prided three things above all else – love, respect, and family – and anyone who endangered any of those things was harshly dealt with. But before now, they had never thought to expect the danger to come from within, from a loved one, from someone they trusted beyond all else. "Lock him below," Tus added, with a dismissive wave of his hand as he turned away. "I can't bear to look at him."

"You're coming with me, _little brother_," Garsiv snarled, his usual rough tone coloured with sarcasm when he uttered the words.

Bis, ever loyal Bis, rushed forward, eyes wide with uncertainty and fear. "But Prince Dastan is innocent, it's the Uncle that –!"

"Silence!" Tus roared, addressing the man directly. "Leave us, or you will be thrown in the cells as well."

Bis sought Dastan's gaze, his eyes showing his preparation for rebellion, but the urchin Prince shook his head and looked away. He wanted no heroics on his behalf, and he certainly didn't want Bis to face the same fate he did. Nizam had already managed to convince his brothers that this entire attack had been orchestrated by their own brother, so what why would he hesitate at naming Bis a co-conspirator? Dastan already knew that his Uncle would stop at nothing to gain the crown, even if it meant the death of his entire family in the process. Bis was merely a pawn in this game of war and treason.

Dastan allowed himself to be dragged from the room – what else could he do? – but he had to find a solution to this. His brother glanced at him once more before he was pulled away, and he caught the briefest flash of regret in Tus' eyes before the wall impeded his gaze. "Garsiv, you have to believe me. Nizam _is_ planning an attack on the crown. He wants our father's throne!"

Snorting, his brother replied, "He plans to kill all of us does he? At his age? Dastan, do you realise how foolish you sound?" He felt him shake his head, before Garsiv continued. "No, you're getting locked in the cells until our father arrives. _He'll_ see this dealt with."

The rest of Dastan's pleas fell on deaf ears, just as they had since the spy had 'revealed' his plan to all and sundry, but he couldn't help but make their trip down the many flights of stairs as difficult as possible for his _dear_ brother. Call it habit after years of being the youngest, but he wouldn't go down without a fight. A thwarted escape attempt and a few rough scuffles later, earning both of them a set of aching ribs, they were soon standing in front of the black iron gates of the Alamutian cells.

"Garsiv, please …" Dastan murmured, one last feeble attempt before the lock on the door tumbled to a close.

"Enough, Dastan," replied his brother, just as weary as he was. "Just … enough."

But he couldn't stop, he just couldn't. Bis was his trusted friend and ally, but Garsiv would be far too wary of passing a message on to him. There had to be someone, somewhere, who would heed his words and try to help him. There had to be someone.

"Wait," Dastan called, raising a hand through the bars to stop his brother from walking away. "Pass a message to the Princess for me."

Garsiv's eyes widened and his expression turned from surprise to suspicion in a matter of moments. "What is it?"

"Tell her … tell her that the temple is not safe. She can't take it to the temple." It was cryptic enough for no one else to understand, but obvious enough to those who knew what he could be referring to. He only hoped that the Princess' drive to protect the dagger was strong enough to tempt her into speaking with a shackled Persian accused of treason against the crown.

"The temple? Is this temple where they're hiding your Alamutian weapons then? Or, wait, is the temple secretly a forge that they use to manufacture Koshkan's goods?" His voice once again laced with sarcasm, Garsiv turned away. "Save your lies, Dastan."

"Brother please, just do this for me. _Please_."

Something in his voice must have touched the man, because his brother paused momentarily, though he barely spared a glance over his shoulder. "Perhaps," was all he said, before taking the stairs to the surface two at a time.

Sighing, Dastan pulled away from the bars and stepped further into the cell. Slumping against a wall and letting himself slide to the ground, he sat there and thought about what he could do next. A pointed tip bit into the tender skin of his ankle, but he didn't dare touch it, let alone remove the offending item. Best that stayed hidden for as long as possible, lest someone realised what the key to the sand's powers really was.

* * *

xXx

* * *

"And that was all he said?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Those words, nothing more?"

"Yes, that's right."

Shocked beyond belief, Tamina slumped back in her chair and pondered the words her servant had just told her. Her mind was awhirl with possibilities, and yet her instincts told her to reject this knew piece of information – the Persian had already been called a liar and a traitor by his own family, so why should she believe his poisonous tongue? But he spoke of things he should not know, that no Persian should know, and the question of how he could possibly be aware of the dagger or the temple was prominent in her mind.

But the most worrying, of course, was what he could mean. Why would the temple be in danger? In danger from what? And what on earth would she need to take the dagger there for? The Persian attack was over, they had agreed to stop all hostilities against her people – the threat was gone. But above all else, this made her fear over the loss of the dagger ever greater. Her priests still had not recovered it, and all they knew was that a Persian warrior had stolen it from them some time during the battle.

It could be anywhere by now.

"And he has been placed in the cells already?" Tamina asked, rising from her chair. They needed to solve this mystery, and soon. "Do their guards stand at the doors, or do ours?" Her servant knew not, but that did not bother her. The palace and its surrounding rooms had been built with secrecy in mind; tunnels, rooms, and various disguised pathways were hidden throughout, and she knew of at least one path that lead to the very centre of the dungeons. However, she thought it likely that it fallen into disrepair, as it had been so long since they had been used as anything other than storage. "When night falls, I will seek answers."


	2. Chapter 2

Feeling ridiculous for needing to sneak around her own palace, Tamina held her breath and pressed herself tightly against a protruding pillar so as not to alert the patrolling guards to her presence. Their footsteps echoed in the marble hallway, and her heart thumped loudly in her chest. After another breathless moment, she cautiously tilted her head forward, eyes searching the hall to her right for any sign on the guards – but thankfully they had moved on.

Dashing out from her hiding place, Tamina made her way over to a brightly covered tapestry. It was fitting that the scene depicted was of the high temple and the horizon beyond. Perhaps this was a sign from the Gods that her quest was indeed necessary. Glancing around once more, she pushed aside the heavy fabric and searched the wall for the mechanism that would reveal the hidden passage beyond. Sliding the panel aside, she then carefully replaced the tapestry in its rightful position before closing the wall panel behind her.

It was pitch black inside the passage, but she used the wall to find her way, carefully moving through until she found the next panel – one that lead down to the dungeon beneath. Turning the inner mechanism to open this panel, she fretted for a moment when the gears ground together without actually moving the door. Terrified of being heard, Tamina paused and instinctively held her breath once more, expecting to hear raised voices or footsteps at any moment – but no other noise stirred. Trying the mechanism again, she gritted her teeth when the gears ground together once more, but breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the panel finally moved. Ducking into the next passage – one that was thankfully lit – she closed the panel behind her and hurried along to her destination.

Dropping to the ground in front of a grate that looked down over the five cells, her eyes quickly scanned for the one that held the person she was looking for. He was asleep against the bars of the cell directly across from her, and still wore his armour from the attack that morning.

Glaring, as if her eyes could truly pierce the leather and metal, she whispered, "Prince!"

But he didn't stir.

Annoyed, as if he was purposefully staying asleep just to spite her, she called again in a harsh whisper, "Prince!"

But he continued to breathe heavily, not even flinching at the noise. Sighing to herself, Tamina looked around on the floor beneath her for something she could throw in his direction. Surely in the dusty confines of this old passage there would be _something_ she could throw in his direction. Spotting a small crumbled piece of rock, she lifted the item and took careful aim through the grate. Lobbing the small rock in the air, she silently congratulated herself on a perfect shot – until the Prince raised a hand and caught the rock mid-air.

"Is this how you wake all your guests, Tamina?" The Prince asked, rising to his feet. He sauntered over to the door of his cell, slipping his arms through the bars to lean on the metal crossbeam partway up.

"Only treacherous miscreants like yourself," she replied scathingly. He may have looked oddly innocent while faking slumber, but she could see that his true colours were exactly as she had suspected - nothing but a spoilt Persian scoundrel. "The stories about you are true it seems. You really are nothing but a peasant thief the King dragged from the streets." She watched him stiffen, and saw a wounded expression cross his face before he bowed his head, effectively covering his features in shadow. Tamina was surprised to discover that she actually wanted to retract her comment at that reaction, but then she remembered why he was here, and why she was here, and her resolve strengthened once more.

"So it would seem," was all the Prince said in reply, and still she couldn't see his face.

Pausing for a moment, the Princess then forged on. "I received your message," she told him briskly, reminding herself to make this quick - who knew when the guards would come through to check on him. "What do you know of such things?"

"I know more than you might think," was his less than cryptic response, and Tamina had to perse her lips so as not to curse at how frustrating this man was.

"Then what danger could it possibly be in? If you know as much as you infer, then you must know that I need any information you might have. _Tell me_, Prince."

"My Uncle—"

Tamina scoffed, much the same as Garsiv had when the Persian had tried to convince his closest brother of the true events. "Your own family won't believe your sordid tales. What makes you think I am so gullible?"

"I know where your precious dagger is."

Several heartbeats passed wherein Tamina spluttered silently, trying to let that information sink in. "How could you possibly— _You_! Are _you_ the one that attacked my Priest and stole the dagger from his very hands?" Her own hands gripped the grate in front of her tightly, her knuckles fading to white. This man would stop at nothing, wouldn't he? He was deceitful, blood-thirsty, and clearly he couldn't be trusted. "Give me back the dagger so I can return it to its rightful place, and I'll _consider_ saving your neck from a hanging!"

"I can't."

Was that ... was that amusement she heard in his voice? Of all the ... "Can't, or won't?"

"No, only can't Princess. It's hidden you see, and only I know where. The thing is, I don't know your city very well. I couldn't possibly tell you _where_ it is without knowing where in Gods' name _I_ am."

Her eyes narrowing, Tamina asked suspiciously, "What are you saying?"

"Break me out of here." Finally he looked up, and while his voice had sounded calm and almost arrogant in its request, the expression on his face was anything but. Nevertheless, a prisoner begging for escape; how common an occurrence.

"I'll do no such thing. You're a traitor to your own Kingdom, and you already stole from mine. Why on earth should I trust you?"

"Because my Uncle will use the Sands of Time to have my father killed and erase myself and my brothers from the very fabric of history if you don't."

* * *

xXx

* * *

From the dead silence that followed his statement, Dastan had to believe that his words had finally gotten through to the Princess. Clearly she had a hard time dealing with betrayal because even when she had devoted herself to stealing the dagger back from him, and attempting to kill him in the process, he swore she had never reacted this venomously toward him. Then again, time had a funny way of softening memories to make them less severe.

Finally he heard a movement, but then the only sounded that echoed through the room was that of her retreating footsteps. "Tamina!" he called, not caring if there was anyone else nearby who would hear him. "Where are you going?"

No reply came. A cold feeling swept through his body, and Dastan wondered if his Uncle truly would triumph this time around. No one would believe a word he said. What was he supposed to do now?

But a movement in the floor before him soon brought his answer. Dastan watched as what he had thought to be a simple crack in the ground slowly became the entrance to a flight of stairs that lead even further below the dungeons. But still the bars separated him from freedom.

Tamina's cloaked head, now covered in dust, rose from the staircase, and she glanced around warily before looking straight at him. Now that she wasn't hidden in the shadows, this first real glimpse of her took his breath away.

The Princess approached him then, her demeanour completely changed from before. Seemingly unafraid, she walked straight up to the bars and placed her hands on the cross-beam he had been leaning on only moments before. "Please, you must tell me what you know. I think you already know that the fate of the world rests on the safety of the dagger."

Her eyes were wide and open, and Dastan would have been fooled if he hadn't seen a very similar act only weeks beforehand. He stepped away from the bars, away from her, and further into the cell – mindful now of the cloak that shrouded the rest of her body, potentially hiding any weapons she may be carrying – before speaking. "I do , which is why I need your help, and you need mine." Taking a breath, knowing that she would likely refuse, he asked again, "Tamina, you have to get me out of here. Only I know what Nizam is up to, and I can't let him murder my family." _Again_.

Her eyes flickered with annoyance, and Dastan would have congratulated himself if he wasn't so focussed on her answer. "Fine," she muttered, and swept her cloak aside, drawing out a ring of keys. "But we have to hurry."

Rushing forward, and immediately wishing he hadn't when he felt a sting in his ankle once more, Dastan eagerly pushed the gate open as soon as she had unlocked it.

"Where do we go?" She asked, stepping backward toward the darkened flight of stairs.

"I'm not sure," he replied, stifling a smile. "Get me out into the streets, I can tell you then."

Tamina's eyes narrowed slightly, but she agreed, and led him down the stairs and through several more passages, opening doorways and moving various items as they went to cover their tracks. Surfacing in a tiny hut on the outside of the palace, Dastan gladly breathed in a gulp full of fresh air. Some of the passages had been lit and clearly used often, but others ... while he knew they were useful, he'd prefer _not_ to have to use them again. Stale air and crumbled ceilings or floorings were painful at the best of times, let alone at the middle of the night.

Turning to take Tamina's hand, pulling her up through the square hole, they replaced the wooden cover and dusty red rug that had been sitting over it. Moving to an open window, Dastan stood in the shadows and looked around.

"There's a clear path to that alleyway," he murmured. "If we leave now, we can—"

"I think not, Persian."

Freezing when he felt the cool tip of a blade pressed against his throat, Dastan turned slowly to confront a fiery Alamutian Princess. He knew she had been hiding something beneath that cloak.

"Move and I'll scream for the guards, and your brothers can add jail breaker to your already despicable reputation." Stepping in closer, she pressed the dagger harder against his throat until he had to hold himself against the wall to avoid losing his head. "Tell me what you know, _now_."


	3. Chapter 3

_He seemed to be burning up from the inside out, his cries echoing throughout as people watched on, most of whom were too shocked to make a move to save their precious King. The entire congregation watched on as his skin began to burn and melt, peeling away and revealing damaged pink flesh. Staring down at the failing body of his brother while he clutched at the middle son, his face was a mask of horror._

_But inside, he rejoiced._

Nizam's eyes sprang open as he woke.

* * *

xXx

* * *

Mentally cursing at himself, Dastan realised a little too late that he would have a hard time separating this Tamina from the one he had known in his time. Already he had let his guard down around her, even though he had suspected her of wanting to make this kind of move ever since she had emerged from the trap door in the dungeon.

It was an easy mistake to make; her biting tongue was the same, as was her lightning wit, and as for her beauty ... But this wasn't the Princess he had come to know. Now he only knew facts about her, nothing of what she was truly thinking and feeling in that moment. That is, nothing bar what he could assume. This Tamina hadn't stood by his side as he helped her retrieve the dagger and save the known world. She thought he was a thief and a traitor, and would rather see him hang then let him help her in any way. He imagined that the only reason he was still standing now was because he knew the location of the dagger. He was the _only_ one that knew where it was – thank the Gods. So unfortunately she had to let Dastan help her, otherwise they may just suffer the Gods' wrath in the aftermath of Nizam's stupidity and selfishness.

Normally he'd manoeuvre around her, strike her hand, make her drop the dagger somehow, but she was standing far too close with far too much force holding the sharp blade against his throat. In this position he couldn't risk it.

"Now just wait," he murmured, though even that small movement pressed his throat awkwardly against the blade. "We don't have time for this."

"_Tell me_, Persian," she insisted, moving the blade from his throat to his stomach, the tip biting into his flesh. "Or I'll kill you here."

Her mistake. Regretting the need to harm her, his hands grabbed hers, twisting her wrist sharply and with enough force for her fingers to go limp and for the dagger to drop to the ground. Pushing her backwards, knowing there was a small pile of flour sacks and other items that would at least save her from hitting the wall, Dastan dropped to the ground and scooped up the dagger she had threatened him with.

"That's the fourth time you've tried to attack me," he told her, the hilt of the blade now securely held in his hand.

"The fourth ...? Well I'll succeed yet, just you wait!" He watched as she struggled to rise, wondering how she managed to carry off such a biting tone while looking so out of sorts. Who would have thought that furs, buckets and sacks would hinder her so much?

"You already did," he told her, though he wasn't entirely sure why. He felt strange compulsion within him to tell her of the memory he was replaying in his mind, and his tongue just ran away with him. "You clubbed me over the head."

Tamina stopped struggling for a moment and simply looked up at him, and for a second there he thought he saw a flash of amusement in her eyes – clearly the thought of clubbing him still appealed to her. But then her gaze hardened, and she snapped, "Your people attacked my city, and it's because of _your_ Uncle that we're in danger now. You _should_ die for what you've done."

Her words stung, partly because of their nature but also because in a way she was right. It was his fault, Persia's fault, that they were even in this predicament now. Nizam may have planned this, and he may have convinced his brothers to attack, but they had still attacked.

At least her words revealed something other than her dislike of him; she believed him. Or rather, she believed that it was his Uncle, and not Dastan himself, that orchestrated this attack. That was something, he supposed.

Sighing, Dastan slid the weapon into his waistband and stepped forward to help her up. Leaning on one knee, he offered her a hand, and though her gaze once again shot daggers in his direction, she nevertheless accepted his help and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

"Look, we don't have time for me to tell you everything that happened. I know about the dagger, I know what could happen to the Sandglass, and I know about the temple – and so does Nizam. We have to get out of here." Casting wildly for something that may make her move, that may make her stop this nonsense and just accept what he was telling her for now, Dastan said, "The dagger's being taken to Nasaf. It's the safest place I could think of for it."

"No, the temple is the safest place, the only place it can be taken."

"But Nizam knows about the temple! You can't take it there and you can't keep it here, because he'll find it and take it from us." She was sceptical, so very sceptical of him and everything he was telling her, but it was all the truth. Or rather, a version of the truth. "I know Nasaf like the back of my hand. I can help you keep the dagger safe."

But Tamina was adamant. "Take me to the dagger, and I'll return it to the temple."

Frustrated, Dastan almost turned away from her, but remembered his recent mistake and simply stalked a short distance from her instead. Why didn't he just hand her back the dagger? Then he could simply follow her across the desert and through the mountains and protect her like he had before, which had been a trying task but not too difficult. But now she just didn't understand, she didn't grasp the ... the ...

Groaning at his stupidity, Dastan was suddenly glad that he had kept the dagger hidden this whole time, and even more so that he had convinced her he no longer had it. Of course she wanted to return the dagger to the temple, because she wanted to sacrifice herself and return it to the damn Gods.

"The dagger is on its way to Nasaf," he told her, his words clipped as his frustration showed through. "We have to go." Making his way back to the open window he looked out once more, looking up and down the deserted street beyond and at the alleyway he wanted to take.

"If your own family won't believe your tales, why in the world should I?" Tamina asked him. "How do I know I can trust you?"

Looking back over his shoulder, he had no real answer for her. If the situation was reversed would he believe anything she had told him? He was nothing but a man from a marauding Empire, one who had been accused of treason by the very people he held most dear. Why should she give him the benefit of the doubt?

But in the same vein, how did he even know if she could be trusted this time around? Maybe in the past she could, but things had been different then, no matter the similarities to the situation they were in now. Neither of them could know for sure, not yet.

"You don't," he said simply.

The Princess looked at him for a moment, and though it had diminished somewhat he could still see the doubt and wariness in that stare. She may be willing to let him help her for now, but it was clear that she still didn't believe she could trust him. That would take time; time they didn't have to spare.

Moving to the door of the hut, Dastan pushed it open slowly, his eyes darting along the street and up to the walls and rooves of the building around them, not wanting them to be seen. When his brothers discovered him missing the chase would be on, and if anyone saw the Princess sneaking around her own streets in the middle of the night, questions would definitely be asked. They had to be careful.

Dastan felt her presence close behind him as she looked out as well. "Your plan is foolhardy," she whispered to him.

"How so?" He asked in return.

"You're wanted for treason, and no doubt your brothers will follow once they realise you've escaped. Yet you're heading straight for the one place that is sure to be crawling with Persian soldiers. You're mad."

He swore that he could hear her mutter 'And I'm mad for following along' under her breath, but he couldn't be sure. Stifling a smile as he remembered his request to the heavens to give him the strength not to kill her before they made it to Nasaf, he murmured back, "So stay."

"Never."

"Fine, then let's get out of here." Pushing the door open he moved out and pressed himself to the outside wall of the hut, keeping in the shadows for as long as he could as he waited for her to close the rickety wooden door behind them. Raising a brow in a silent query, Dastan waited for her nod before dashing out from under the awning and into the streets beyond.

* * *

xXx

* * *

Tamina had to assume that being called a traitor by your own brothers must addle the mind somewhat, because it was the only thing she could think of that might explain this Persian's suicidal plan! Though she had to admit that there was one good mark in his favour; when they had been scouring for supplies, he had only stolen from the Persian camp and not from her own people. He'd produced himself a cloak, two rather well-used swords – which she suspected were in fact his own – and two horses from those that were stabled near the edge of town. The fact that he had stolen from his own people had made her sketch a brow at him, and though he hadn't responded in any way she knew that he understood her surprise.

But everything had tumbled downhill from there. They had barely left through one of the smaller villager's entrances before one of the Great Wall guards had spotted them and called out. For fear of revealing either of their identities they hadn't answered, so of course the alarm had been sounded. She had to appreciate their dedication, since that was the kind of protection that had saved their city for centuries, but at this one moment Tamina wished she had been anything other than a Guardian Princess, and that this had been anything other than the Holy City.

They had fled, riding their horses hard as they followed the trails to the outskirts of the area, and though she had badly needed to rest the Persian Prince had pushed them and pushed them until they reached the cliffs of the surrounding plain by the following nightfall. She had thought his urgency was merely caused by the need to move far ahead of whoever might be sent in pursuit of them, as after only dozing for a few hours they left as the break of dawn the next day.

But it was his behaviour from then on that left her wondering about the sanity of her companion. They had ridden along the stretch of cliffs and hills until they came across the entrance to the Valley of the Slaves. Assuming he would want to skirt around such a place she had pressed forward, but not the Persian Prince. Oh no, he drew back his horse and called for her to stop, insisting that this was the only place they could cross safely.

Safely! The man was beyond mad, and she told him as much.

"We need to get to Nasaf, and if we keep riding around to the beginning of the dunes then we'll waste what ground we've gained."

"But there's nothing but murdering cutthroats there!"

"They're not all that bad," had been his reply, an amused smile lighting his features, and she had stared at him in shock. But what worried her further was his plan to stop for the day, set up camp and wait until the next morning to pass through. After pressing their horses so hard for the last two days, now he wanted to wait! And when she had asked him why, he'd simply replied, "It's Wednesday," as if that should solve her dilemma and answer her question.

Wednesday! Was Wednesday just a bad day for him, hmm? Perhaps it was a Persian custom, no travelling through Slave-ridden valleys on Wednesdays.

Giving up, she helped him set up camp and waited until the next day. But all through that night, and through the previous evening as well, she had often caught him looking at her. Tamina would feel a tingling at her neck, a sudden awareness of being watched, and she would turn only to see his eyes dart away from her and back at the fire he was tending, or the horse he was grooming. It happened over and over, the man's eyes would follow her everywhere.

It wasn't an uncommon feeling, since most had thought her a great beauty, but the constant regard was unnerving because of the _look_ in his eyes as he stared. There was consideration in his gaze, as if he was trying to decipher what she was about, but there was something else there as well. Something she could name, but was loathe to do so. But once, as she drifted to sleep, she had seen his eyes soften, and had watched beneath lowered lashes as his gaze drifted over the rest of her body. The look in his eyes then had sent a shiver down her spine, and she rolled over.

The next morning they had left when the sun had risen high in the sky, and whatever bizarre reason had caused him to wait until that day, she had to admit that it had served them well - not a single person, blood-thirsty or otherwise, crossed their path. But they moved quickly regardless, and emerged out on the desert sand only hours later.

Together they looked out at the vast sand dunes, their horses shifting restlessly as a wind picked up and whipped sand into the air around them. Settling her cloak closer around her face and shifting the woollen scarf over her mouth, she looked to the Prince, waiting for his direction, but he was searching the horizon for something.

"What is it?" she asked, her tone not nearly as sharp or controlled as it had been. She promised herself that she wasn't softening to him, that she still didn't trust him, but she couldn't deny that she now felt a little more comfortable in his presence.

"If you see any sand dervishes, tell me." He followed her movements then, covering his face against the lashings of sand.

"Sand dervishes? Why in the world ...?"

"My Uncle has men at his disposal, men that he will send to murder us both. They use strange practises, I don't know too much about them." Pulling his gaze away from the desert, he looked at her, and she caught the earnestness in his eyes. "If you see them, then we'll have more than just my brothers and their army to worry about."

Nodding, Tamina nudged her horse forward and heard the Persian follow. "Let's move then."


	4. Chapter 4

He was so at ease on the beast, sitting comfortably, his body flowing with the moments, and it made Tamina jealous. She wasn't comfortable in the saddle, and though she wasn't an inept rider, her lack of experience was obvious every time she attempted to walk after a long ride; her gait was wide and she hobbled around for a time, trying to stretch her stiff and aching muscles. But if the Prince could show no sign of weakness, then neither would she, especially now that they were entering his home city. She didn't want him to have any sort of advantage over her, not if she could help it. Though as she looked up at the great statues that guarded the main road into Nasaf, Tamina allowed herself to admit that she felt a sliver of fear at what may be in store for them. If the Prince was captured, she would be stranded there in a foreign city, one that possibly didn't yet know of it's political ties to Alamut. Anyone here may just see her as an enemy and dispose of her post-haste. With that thought in mind, she inched her horse closer to Prince Dastan's as they trotted through the main gates.

"Keep your eyes forward," he murmured to her as they passed the gate keepers, who were carefully eyeing every traveller who passed through. "Just keep moving."

Whether he sensed her fear or not, his steady voice helped calm her somewhat and Tamina did as suggested, not meeting the eyes of anyone they passed, simply following in his wake. The guards looked over them as they did anyone else, their eyes sharp and inquisitive, but they soon passed over them onto the next subjects, and she breathed a sign of relief.

"My father would have already gone to meet my brothers in Alamut, which leaves the city in a vulnerable state." She watched him glance back, a slight frown marring his features. "They should really be more vigilant." From the small amount he had already told her about the city, Tamina knew that even though their army was currently stationed outside her walls, there was still a large contingency of soldiers left here in the capitol. Persia was a great empire, but had not reached such a degree of superiority without making enemies along the way. Of course they had to be cautious.

They dismounted, leaving the horses tethered to a trough a short way from the entrance they had just arrived through, though she had a suspicion that they would not be returning to collect them. Anyone tracking them would know what horses they had taken by now, and these two were too tired from the last few days of travel to be of use to them now. Making sure her cloak was still drawn securely over her head, Tamina moved to the Prince's side, tugging on his sleeve urgently.

"Where is the dagger hidden?" She asked him, her voice low.

Dastan glanced down at her, though his gaze was shrouded in the darkness of his own cloak, and he murmured, "It should have been taken to my soldier's stable. But you should leave, have a meal, and I'll return for you when I've retrieved it."

Scoffing, unable to believe that he would even try such a tact, she told him, "And leave you alone with the dagger? Unlikely. Take me with you."

She heard him sign, though the slight upward tilt to his lips suggested he had suspected as much anyway and let him lead her forward through the busy streets.

That was another thing that had caught her attention of late, the way he seemed to predict her responses, or how amused he seemed to be after a few of her replies. There was a look about him, one that suggested he _knew_ things about her, that it wasn't just an assumption about her character. He _knew_ her character, but how could he? It was impossible for him to know her so well in such a short space of time - yet he did. It made her want to know, made her want to ask just what had happened to him, what he knew, _how_ he could know.

It wasn't until she noticed that they were moving away from the main road to the palace, that they were moving into deeper parts of the city, that Tamina realised that his men's stables weren't with the main army's. The buildings around her were well-weathered, some crumbling, and she could see a visible change in the people as they moved further and further along.

"Dastan," she murmured, unaware of the fact that it was the first time she had used his name. "Where are we going?"

Once again his face lit with an amused smirk, as it often did when he noticed any uncertainty about her. She wasn't sure if the expression was to make her feel better, or to goad her, but it usually succeeded in distracting her from whatever bothered her. And if that didn't, his words did. "Why, afraid of getting your feet a little dirty?"

Drawing herself up, Tamina simply glared at him, not wanting to dignify such a question with a response, but that only made the man laugh. "Calm down, Princess," he told her, stopping by a large, rickety wooden door. "We're here." Not bothering to knock, Dastan slid the bolts on the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let her enter first. "My men live out in these parts," he told her in a murmur as she passed him. "It's easier for one person to travel all this way every day than to make all of them trudge up to the palace stables."

Looking up in surprise, Tamina wanted to catch his eye, but the Persian refused to look at her, and instead stepped inside. "I suppose they wouldn't be too comfortable around the palace anyway," she replied, and earned herself a small smile in return.

A man looked up, distracted from whatever task he had been performing by their entering the stable, and his jaw dropped in surprise when he saw them.

"Prince Dastan!" He exclaimed, rushing forward.

Glancing back at the Prince, Tamina watched as his face broke into another smile - a real smile - and he moved forward as well to greet the man. "Bis, you're here! What're you doing back in Nasaf?" The man, Bis, glanced at the Princess then, clearly wary about speaking in front of her, and Dastan told him in a low voice, "She helped me escape, Bis."

With one last long look he finally nodded and said, "The Princes told us to leave. They didn't want us near you." Grinning, he added, "I think they thought _we_ might help you escape."

"When have I ever needed your help?" Dastan replied, his lips tilted in a cocky grin.

"You needed _someone's_ help to get out of there."

"I didn't need anyone's help, it was just useful. You've got so little faith in me Bis."

Tamina watched their exchange, very amused by the way they interacted. The two of them seemed to hold a lot of respect for each other, and were clearly comfortable enough to joke and poke fun regardless of their respective stations. But then her mind snagged on something; Dastan hadn't expected these men to be here, which meant he hadn't sent any of them to Nasaf with the dagger. Then ... where was it?

As if he had the same thought, the Prince then said, "Bis, that thing that I asked you to look after for me ...?"

His man looked at him blankly for a moment, and then slowly started nodded. "The thing, right. Yes. What about it?"

"Is it hidden?"

"... yes?"

"See Princess?" Dastan asked then, turning to face her. "Everything's fine."

"Dastan," she said, a warning in her tone as she stepped forward. "Give it back." She had considered during their journey that he may in fact have the dagger on him, but after searching through their supplies in the dead of the night while he was asleep, she had to assume that he didn't. But now those suspicions flared up again and she wondered if he had hidden it in the one place she hadn't been able to search - on his person.

She watched as his gaze flicked back to Bis, and saw the calculating look in his eyes. He was figuring out how to move, what to do next, and she knew she must be right - he did have it, the bastard.

"Look," he started, stepping forward to talk to her directly. "We've only just arrived, we need to rest, eat, sleep, and then we'll have to disappear. Can't his wait? The dagger is safe."

Tamina shook her head and held out her hand to him. "Give me back the dagger."

But he shook his head as well, taking one step away from her. "No. It is safe where it is now, I swear it. You can depend on me Tamina."

How could he say something like that? They had just journeyed across the desert, and were now sitting in a broken down old stable in the slums of a foreign city - the _only_ person here she even knew was the man standing across from her now, and though she had no choice but to follow him she certainly didn't know if she could depend on him. "No, I can't."

But there was something in his eyes, something earnest, that made her want to believe. True, he hadn't led her astray yet, he'd been true to his word. "In this you can," he insisted. "In this, I swear to you, you can have faith."

"Faith?" She asked, unable to help the scoff that rose. "You, a Persian, talking to a Guardian about _faith_?" Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Bis slowly backing away, his eyes darting between herself and Dastan as he went, before he disappeared through a door at the back of the stalls. "How about a little faith from you?" She requested, once she knew that the other man was out of their hearing.

"What do you mean?" Was his reply, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at her.

"Tell me about the dagger. Tell me what happened."

She could almost see his defences rise, as if it was a physical shield that he drew up between them, and she hoped he wouldn't refuse. Their journey so far, though short, had made her question the kind of man he was, the kind of man she had assumed him to be when he was lying in the cells beneath her city. This Persian was nothing like what she had expected, and everything that had happened so far had only made her more and more curious to learn just what had happened to make him willing to embark on this journey with her. Was it as she had thought originally, a chance to clear his name as a traitor, or was it something more? Was he doing it for the sake of the people, to save them from the Gods wrath, or was it a different reason entirely? Was he doing it for her?

"Ok," was his only reply. Watching as he glanced around, his eyes settled on an empty stall and he nodded in it's direction, leading her over to the wooden gate that kept it closed.

Following, Tamina nimbly stepped inside, picking her way through the straw and muck to sit on a bale of hay. Dastan looked around at the stables beyond before following her in, pushing the stall door shut to give them a semblance of privacy so they could talk. He leaned back against the wooden sides of the stall then, arms crossing once more over his chest.

"You know I've used the dagger before," he started. "In my time, we captured Alamut and my brother claimed you as his bride. You only agreed because you knew one of us carried the dagger. One of my soldiers later handed it to me."

"In your time?" She asked, stunned. He had used the dagger, but more than that - he'd must have seen the Sandglass. He'd _used_ the powers of the Sandglass. "Dastan," she whispered. "That's-"

"Forbidden, I know. Just ... let me finish."

Tamina nodded, her gaze locked with his, but her mind was whirling. He'd used the dagger, used the Sandglass. _That_ was why he had said what he'd said on the steps of her palace; he'd _known_.

"My father was murdered, and I was blamed, so you helped us escape the city." Tamina's eyes widened a little further with disbelief, and he pointed out, "It was that, or stay and marry my brother. But by that point you knew _I_ had the dagger."

Frowning, she pondered that for a moment, and then nodded for him to continue. He did, telling her only the basic story of travelling to the Valley of the Slaves, then of his father's funeral where he learned the truth of Nizam's intentions, and so on. The more she learned, the more sense different aspects of him and his actions so far made. But there were parts missing, even she could see that. He told her of the events, but it lacked emotion - even when he told her of his brothers' deaths he only spoke of the moment, and glossed over details. She could understand the reasons behind that, because she was sure that talking about such a thing would be tough, but it left large gaps in his story. Though it was easy enough to tear her mind from when he wasn't telling her as he spoke of the other events at the Sandglass chamber. Tamina gasped, a stunned expression crossing her face, as she listened to his words.

"I closed the jewelled hilt, and the crack in the glass started to seal again. Nizam and I were thrown backwards, and I awoke in the streets, just as the battle in Alamut had ended. That was when-"

"Wait," she interrupted, raising a hand to cut him off. "You said your Uncle pierced the Sandglass with the dagger?"

"Yes, but I pressed the jewelled tip."

_Why_ hadn't he told her that before?

* * *

xXx

* * *

Dastan watched, curious, as she pursed her lips and asked for him to continue. He was right - she used to be a better liar, though perhaps he simply knew too much about her mannerisms to fall for her silence. But he didn't press for any more information. All he knew now was that they needed to move, fast, before Nizam put his plan into action, because clearly something was wrong. Something about his story made her wary of his Uncle, and that put Dastan on edge.

"But we know something that my Uncle doesn't."

Tamina looked up at him, and though he could still see the slight flash of worry lurking in her eyes, she seemed determined to press forward. "What might that be?"

"The dagger, he doesn't know it exists." Of that, Dastan was sure. He had run all the events of the last few weeks - his last few weeks - over and over in his mind in the hours they had been travelling, and he was certain that Nizam knew nothing of the dagger itself.

"But how can you be so sure? What happened in your time has changed, that doesn't exist anymore - any number of things could be different now." Tamina was clearly doubtful, and he really had no definitive way of proving it to her, but this was something he was sure about.

"I _know_ this. After the battle, Tus tried to take the dagger from me - but Nizam stopped him. He didn't even spare a glance at it, didn't try to claim it for himself. Then in Nasaf he was ... I don't know, but the way he asked me for the item, it really was as if he didn't know what it could be, and that he hadn't seen or heard of it before." His voice was earnest, and he spoke the honest truth - as he knew it.

Doubt still clouded Tamina's features, and he swore that the worried looked in her eyes had only increased, but she soon nodded, accepting his word. "Dastan," she asked, her voice soft. "Where is the dagger now?"

Again with the dagger. She had to have realised by now that he hadn't been entirely honest with her so far, and if not then Bis' display before should have tipped her off. "It's safe."

This time she accepted his word. He hadn't bothered to tell her that it was hidden, that someone else was guarding it for her, just that it was safe. He had seen her earlier, searching through their supplies in the middle of the night, searching through his horse's saddle bags, and he had known that she suspected him. He'd even caught her looking at his profile, as if gauging where he may have hidden it amongst his clothing. But it still lay hidden in the same place it had rested since he had been thrown in the dungeons of Alamut, and for now that's where it would stay.

"Come on," he said, pushing away from the stall wall and holding out a hand to her. "Let's settle, eat, and let me change out of this damn armour."

Tamina gave a start, glancing at the leather and metal that could be seen through his open cloak, as if she had forgotten that he still wore it. It wasn't meant to be worn for long periods of time, and the leather had already started to chafe and wear on his skin through their travels. Besides, it hadn't been properly cleaned from the battle, and he felt somehow wrong for wearing armour that was coated in Alamutian blood.

The Princess took his hand, getting to her feet and moving toward the stall gate. Dastan leaned past her to flip the latch and open the stall once more.

* * *

xXx

* * *

_The tip of his blade bit into the eldest's throat with practised ease. He watched with an unfathomable joy as the boy fell to the floor, dead. "Poor Tus. So eager for the crown." Turning, he confronted the youngest, struggling on the floor under the force of the Hassansin's double blade. "And you, Dastan, always charging in."_

Nizam's eyes sprang open as he woke.


	5. Chapter 5

Even after years of living inside the King's palace, Dastan always felt like he was returning home when he was in the slums of Nasaf because he knew what kind of poverty-driven foes lay in waiting. Any enemies here were ones he could see and even predict, but his Uncle? Dastan had no idea what action Nizam would take now to ensure his place on the throne. The murder of Sharaman had been deliberately planned after their conquering of Alamut, but with how events had unfolded this time around, the Prince was sure that he couldn't proceed with the same course of action again, not now that Dastan had told one and all that their Uncle was the one to blame.

Even though he was the one to be accused of treachery, he had still managed to plant the seed of doubt. Whatever his plans to use the Sands of Time, Nizam would have to tread carefully now to avoid any suspicion. Dastan's only advantage was that his Uncle still knew nothing of the dagger. Not yet.

That brought his thoughts back to the conversation he had with Tamina that afternoon. He hadn't told her everything, and had outright lied at some points in order to spare her from the full events, but what he had said seemed to have shaken her. Their conversation in the stables had been enlightening to say the least, but the most prominent moment in Dastan's mind was the fear he had seen in _her_eyes when he spoke of what happened in the Sandglass Chamber. She hadn't told him what had bothered her so, but he wasn't a fool; something he had said was important, and he needed to find out what it meant.

When Bis and Tamina returned from market, the Persian Prince had to look twice at her garb, surprised to see her dressed so. She was a stranger in these parts but the gossips didn't lie; she was a beautiful woman, and anyone who had seen her would surely remember such a face. So Bis had dressed her in all sorts of rags and swaths of cloth until even Dastan could forget that she was a Princess. His only concern was her manner – no matter that she had been luring him into a trap at the time, Tamina had admitted herself that her 'constitution was much more delicate' than his own and when they had first entered the city he had seen her hesitation at entering such an environment. But they had returned without the royal armed guards, so all must have been well.

"Do you have a moment?" He asked Tamina, shooting Bis a quick glance to indicate that this was to be private. Why he bothered he wasn't sure, because the two men had been together long enough to predict what was needed in any given situation. As before when they had spoken earlier that day, Bis silently moved away to the back of the stables, but then he hesitated.

"Maybe you'd want to move away from here?" He suggested hesitantly, eyes darting from Tamina to Dastan. "They'll look here."

"We'll be moving on right after this," he assured the man, nodding.

"Right, well …" Trailing off, Bis nodded his head just once before disappearing.

Watching the man head toward the back door and then disappear into the wooden quarters beyond, Dastan felt a twinge of regret. "I shouldn't have come here. I should never have involved my own men."

"He would have sought you out regardless," Tamina mused, and he glanced back at her face with an inquisitive look. "He may have mentioned a plan to free you today," she said in reply, a smile lighting her face. Clearly the two of them had gotten along fairly well in the few hours they had spent looking around the slums' markets. Dastan told himself that this was a good thing, that he needed her to be able to trust the very same people he would trust with his own life, but a flicker of jealousy burned inside him at that smile. Jealous? Of Bis? Bah.

"Tamina, this morning, when I told you of the dagger in my time ... there was something else. There's something else you haven't told me."

Her smile immediately faded, and her eyes no longer twinkled with amusement. Whatever ease she had felt moments ago had been shut in and Dastan found himself feeling regretful at the loss. But they needed to move on, they needed to put a stop to his Uncle's plans. He needed to ensure that no harm came to his family or the crown. Later, once all had been laid to rest, he could address whatever it was growing between himself and the Princess, but for now they had more important things to attend to. As if mirroring his thoughts, Tamina said, "We need to move on. Bis is right, they will check here first. Surely the Persians would have already realised that you've escaped, and that I'm missing."

She was the voice of reason, but he knew that she was also avoiding revealing any more to him about the dagger and the Sandglass than she already had. "Tamina," he said again. Just her name.

Letting out a small sound of exasperation, she said, "Fine." Glancing around the stable, all the stalls open and empty around them, she asked, "Are we to discuss this here?"

Looking around at the empty stable, checking through the gloom for any movement or indication that someone might be hidden in the shadows, Dastan looked back at her and crossed his arms across his chest. "This is as good a place as any."

Giving him a single pointed look, she copied his stance and said, "Fine," again. "You said that in the Sandglass chamber you were struggling with your Uncle for control of the dagger." Because he simply nodded his reply, she continued. "And once the sand had settled, once you had returned to the streets of Alamut on the morning of the attack, you could remember all, and yet your Uncle was clueless?"

Again, a single nod.

"But it was your _Uncle_ who pierced the Sandglass?"

Unsure of the change in her and the insistent way she asked her questions, Dastan gave himself a moment to turn his mind over those few moments again, making sure what he said was right. "Yes, he raised the dagger, and—"

A resigned sigh left her lips at that moment and her head dropped slightly, and Dastan realised that he had his answer. That was it. Nizam had pierced the Sandglass with the blade. For whatever reason that small fact was significant, and suddenly more details about those few moments started to churn in his mind.

Every other time he had used the dagger he had been separated from the actions that were going on around him, almost as if his mind had detached from his body, and he had looked over it all. That never happened, and Nizam had stood beside him, struggling to gain the upper-hand and take the dagger for himself. The Sand of the Sandglass had been powering through the air around them, surging through the chamber and destroying everything it touched, and all the while the dagger had been working it's magic, spiralling back through time and returning them both to the battle in Alamut. Yet when he closed the dagger's hilt again and the force of the Sandglass' power had flung them back into the whirlwind around them, his Uncle had _still been with him_.

Interrupting his thoughts, Tamina asked, "Who had the dagger?" He glanced up at her face, unsure as to what, or when, she meant. "When the sands cleared and you found yourself back in this time, _who had the dagger_?"

"Well ..." Just staring into her face, Dastan didn't know what to say. Anything he said now would reveal his words to her earlier to be a lie. But then again, he had already guessed that she had known. Her quiet acceptance of the safety of the dagger had been a relief, but he had known in his heart that the only reason she had acquiesced was because she had realised the truth; that he had been carrying it all along, protecting it and keeping it safe for her. Nevertheless, he steeled himself for her reaction, and gave in. "I did."

While the smallest amount of tension left her body at his words, despite the fact that he had just admitted to lying to her, whatever it was that she wasn't telling him was clearly a bothering fact. "What is it?" He asked her, uncrossing his arms as he stepped in closer. "Tamina, tell me."

He could almost physically see her trying to hold onto the words, to try and keep the truth to herself, but she couldn't. If he was to help her, if he was to stop his Uncle, he needed to know.

Placing each hand at either side of her shoulders, he tilted his head slightly, trying to look into her eyes. "Please Princess," he murmured, waiting for her to look up at him. "You need to tell me. You have to trust me."

Resignation entered her eyes just moments before she admitted the truth. "Your Uncle ... he will remember. Not like you do now, not with clarity, but he will have small flashes of memory, moments from that time."

His blood running cold at those words, Dastan felt his jaw slacken. His Uncle knew. Or would know, in the future. Maybe soon. Maybe he knew already. "How soon? How soon will the memories come back?"

But Tamina just shook her head, looking up at him with uncertainly in her eyes. It was an expression he could only remember seeing once – the day they stood outside the temple and she despaired. The dagger had been taken away from her, away from them. She had looked as if all was lost, as if she had failed. Thankfully the sense of failure wasn't there now, but he could see it lingering, a shadow behind her gaze. "I don't know," she replied to his question, her voice quiet. "The memories usually come back in the form of dreams. He may not see anything for nights, weeks, but then again ..."

As one, they glanced to the enormous wooden door at the front of the stable, the only thing separating them from the outside world, imagining the gloomy darkness that lay beyond. He didn't need to be looking into her eyes to know her thoughts in that moment, because he shared them; Nizam could be dreaming right now.

A nearby horse snorted in the silence of the night, and Tamina jumped, startled. Despite the tense situation they now found themselves in, Dastan found himself struggling to mask the amused grin that threatened to cross his face – now was not the time for laughter. "All the more reason for us to keep moving," he told her. About to continue, they both heard another horse's snort, and then the soft sound of hooves against the worn dirt road outside.

Frowning, Dastan held up a hand for the Princess to remain silent – at which she gasped indignantly, but did comply – and carefully moved over to the stable door. Placing both hands against it, bracing himself, he leaned in and peered through a knot in the wood, before reeling back.

"Tamina, run!" He yelled, only seconds before a heavy blow to the door send one of the old, decaying halves ricocheting off its hinges and falling to the ground.

"There's the traitor! After him!"

His brother. His own brother, who had inadvertently aided his escape, was once again hunting him down like an animal. It was small consolation that Garsiv felt somehow responsible for his original escape, but even though Dastan had experienced this same pain of betrayal before, it didn't stop it hurting now. Snatching Tamina's hand as he passed her, he whirled the Princess around and ushered her to the back of the stable, toward the door that led to his solders' quarters and to the myriad of street exits beyond. The sounds of metal and horses' hooves behind them told Dastan that his brother's men were dismounting and giving chase.

"Dastan!" Bis rushed forward with several others of his company, pressing his twin blades into his hands before charging forward through the open door and engaging Garsiv's men.

"Bis, wait!" Dastan called, pushing Tamina aside and further into the shadows before running after his men, his friends.

"I should have known it was a bad idea to allow you to form your own company of men, Dastan," Garsiv called, the air ringing with the sound of swords as the soldiers tried to push past the few men that stood by trying to help protect their Prince. "Convinced them to join with you in your plot against our father? What, becoming a Prince of Persia not good enough for you, do you have to kill him too and become King!"

Garsiv's sword was raised high, ready to swing down and chop at the short blade that one man, Roham, held, but Dastan dashed forward and intercepted the blow, following the attack with a quick elbow across his older brother's face. "Sorry, brother," he muttered. "Bis! You won't overcome them!"

"So run!" His man called back, and though he hated the thought of leaving them, knowing that these soldiers were far superior in combat than his own group of thieves and cut-throats, Dastan knew he must. But as he started forward, pressing a hand against the door that separated him from Tamina, he heard a strangled cry from behind and turned to confront a scene he hadn't wished to see again.

Bis' body was pressed against a bulky wooden beam, his face a mask of agony as one of Garsiv's soldiers ran him through.

"_Bis!_"

He couldn't do it again. No matter what happened to the rest of the world, no matter how far his Uncle sank to make his dreams a reality, Dastan couldn't bear to see time repeat itself. Without sparing a thought as to what he was really doing, Dastan's hand dropped swiftly to his boot, pulling the sacred dagger from its hiding place for the first time since he had stood on the Alamutian stairwell, and pressed the jewelled hilt.

From somewhere behind him a high-pitched voice screamed out, "No!", and he felt a soft hand close around his own in the moment at the dagger separated his mind from his body.


	6. Chapter 6

The cutting sound of blades slicing through the air. The crunch and roar of a fire bomb thrown hard against its target. The cracking echo of a taloned whip striking the air with unsettling ease. The controlled mayhem that nestled within the walls of the long forgotten stone building was terrifying to behold, and many whispered in fear of the dark practises that were carried out. Shudder-inducing noises, unexplained disappearances, and always the presence of snake skins that had been shed and left for the world to see. For all but one man, it was a death sentence to walk near the shadowed courtyard that lay in the centre of the building.

And that man was making his way there now.

Walking serenely through the dark hallowed halls, he felt a strong sense of purpose, one that only grew as he watched the deadly accuracy of the men he passed. There was a calmness about him that he hadn't felt since that first morning in Alamut, a fleeting feeling that disappeared when his plans had come crashing down around him. But he swore to himself that this time he wouldn't be so easy to shake. He'd had to rally fast that day, and it had taken a heroic feat of inner strength to quell the innate desire to draw his blade and run that wretched boy through, but he had prevailed. In fact, it had been his greatest diversion over the last few days to remember the look of disbelief and horror that had crossed Dastan's face as the eldest brother, who was so gullible and so eager to please his waste of a father, accused him of attempted treason.

He had been surprised at how loyal his paid spy had been. Of course, the man had then approached him for more funds after the act, seeming to think that he deserved a little extra for his services. Understandably the whelp had promptly been executed. He couldn't afford to have liabilities when it came to this. He was too close, and he had to tread carefully.

Especially since that bastard urchin boy had announced his plans to all and sundry.

Regardless of the fact that the likelihood of his involvement in the plot to raid Alamut had been brushed aside as nonsensical, the possibility had still been made obvious to the people that mattered most. But how had Dastan known? How did he find out? How had he convinced the Princess to flee with him? These were the questions that had tortured him for long hours, and had caused him to order for the young Prince's own company of riff-raff to travel back to the capital immediately. The fewer spies Dastan had left in the city the better, but even then it vexed him to know that the boy had an inner knowledge of what was happening.

Until the dreams started. They were flickering memories at first; snippets of conversation, flashes of a scene unfolding around him. But then he had dreamed of the Hassansins.

_"I have another task for you Hassansin, but you'll have to be quick; your prey has a head start."_

_"You brought what I requested?"_

_Carefully handing over the wrapped package, he watched as the scarred man turned over the leather-bound item, as if sensing what was enclosed in it, feeling it, and becoming entirely distracted by it._

_"These practises, they don't interfere with your skills?"_

_"In trance we can see visions of our future. Visions of death, destiny, and a curse." His voice was mesmerising, calm and yet full of menace, a trait that Nizam respected immensely. This man controlled a group of miscreants so vile and yet so skilled in dark arts. These were consumed by their talents. It was fascinating, and terrifying at the same time. "In a trance we can find anything, including your nephew, Prince Dastan."_

_"Then I hope you shall see more death. Soon."_

That had been the clue he needed to proceed. These dreams he was having felt more and more like memories, like he was recalling a time that had already past, which to most would seem impossible. But considering what it was that he sought beneath the Alamutian temple, he knew that the possibility was entirely plausible. It would also explain Dastan's miraculous insight into his plot to take the throne.

Because Nizam had already succeeded once, and he would do so again. But only with the Hassansins help.

And Dastan had the key.

Nizam knew there was an item that could change the course of time, and that the source of its power was hidden beneath the city, but he also knew that the renegade Prince must have that artefact with him. It had to be why he had fled the city in the dead of the night, and why the Princess was missing as well. She would have followed him, hoping to protect the item, or possibly to try and steal it back from him. Never mind, he would leave it to the hot-headed son and his band of soldiers to track them down and find them. Treason was punishable by death, and now that Dastan had fled, his fate was sealed.

The boy's rushed actions were making this far too easy!

"You have a task for us, my Lord?" The slithery voice of the scarred Hassansin of his dreams drifted over his shoulder. Stilling the shiver that slid down his spine at the sound, Nizam turned to face the man, controlling the urge to turn up his nose at the sight of him. These men may hold an abundance of power, but they were horrific to look at.

"I do, Zolm. Now, listen carefully." Nizam proceeded to tell him of his newest plan to ensure that the young Prince – and his meddlesome Princess – wouldn't disturb his plan again. If Garsiv failed, he would see to it that Dastan received just punishment.

One way or another.

* * *

xXx

* * *

He'd used the dagger.

She could see it in his movements, in the way he fought through the volley of swords and fighting men to deflect a killing blow that he couldn't possibly have seen coming. His face was an odd mask of fury and relief, and as she watched the two men fight side by side, so in sync with the others' movements, she could understand why they spoke so fondly of each other.

But how could he toy with destiny? The dagger was originally seen as a gift from the gods, a source of power for man to control his own fate, to erase time and forge a new destiny for himself. But through the centuries, the dagger's guardians had learned the truth. The dagger was merely a tool, a way for man to learn from his mistakes and to discover the irrefutable truth – they all had a destiny, and not all time could be unwritten. Pertinent moments in time will always repeat themselves, no matter what forces you have on hand to change them. Some things are truly meant to be. He had already told her that Bis had died in _his_ time. Very early in his time, in fact. Granted, that didn't mean that his fate was already decided by the Gods, but the odds were not in his favour.

Assuming she was right about Dastan. But from his determined dash across the stable floor, she knew that she had guessed correctly. No man, no matter how aware of his surroundings, could be so in tune.

Staying hidden behind the door, keeping her eye pressed to the small crack in the wood so she could see what unfolded in the stable beyond, she watched as Dastan slid the dagger back into his boot. It was entirely accessible, and she was almost shocked that she hadn't thought of it before. But even with how blunt the blade was he couldn't have kept such an item there for too long … could he?

A shadow crossed over her face, and suddenly her view was blocked by a heavy body. Tamina shrieked as the force of the man being beaten backwards by one of Garsiv's soldiers forced the door open and she was flung to the floor, the man landing in a tangle beside her. Shaking from the shock, she raised herself onto her arms, glancing down at his body … his broken body. A sword protruded from his chest, and his blank eyes stared up at the ceiling. Squeezing her eyes shut to try and block the image, Tamina scrambled to her feet and ran, wrenching the sword from the man's body with a last minute thought of mercy. She didn't know where she was going, but when she heard the sound of several pairs of feet following behind her, she didn't stop to find her bearings. She just ran.

Weaving through doors and wooden walkways, Tamina lost herself in the maze of the building. Heavy footsteps still followed her, and several leering shouts told her that they were not friendly. Sure that she had ran herself in circles, she had to swallow another shriek that was about to escape from her lips when an arm reached out and pulled her aside, dragging her behind a door hidden in shadow. Struggling against the arm that held her, she wrenched her head up to try and bite down on the hand of her assailant that was clasped around her mouth, when a hoarse voice roughly whispered, "It's me! Stop!" in her ear. Freezing, she then relaxed back against Dastan's hold, trying to control her gasping breaths when three imperial soldiers ran swiftly past their hiding place.

They stayed that way for a while longer, trying to regain their breath and waiting until they were sure it would be safe to move again. At some point Dastan's hand dropped away from her mouth, allowing her to take deep breaths and restore her heartbeat to its normal speed. But at her back she could still feel Dastan's chest moving heavily, his breath laboured, and his heartbeat pounding strongly against her shoulders.

That was when she noticed the uncomfortable damp feeling that was seeping down her arm, and Tamina glanced to the side … and saw blood. Gasping, she pulled away from him, hurriedly checking her arm, shoulder, and neck for an injuries, but came up blank. Then she looked at the Prince.

His head was resting back against the clay wall, his eyes shut in pain, and a large red stain was blossoming in the torn fabric covering his shoulder.

"Dastan," Tamina whispered, alarmed, and immediately went about tearing fabric away from her elaborate guise as a woman of the slums, wadding the strips together and pressing them against the wound. The Persian winced in pain, but otherwise didn't move.

"It's just a scratch," he murmured, raising his head to look first at her, then at the gap in the doorway they had entered through. "We have to get moving."

Shaking her head, Tamina used her most insistent voice when she told him, "You need to have this strapped. How are you supposed to protect me when you're bleeding all over the place?"

Chuckling lightly, he said, "You like telling me what to do."

Tutting him softly, she then shifted her weight to the side, applying more pressure to the wound, telling her mind to ignore the fact that the thin fabric was quickly soaking in blood. "Only because you're so good at following orders," she said, distracted, focussing more on the task at hand than the man in front of her. That is, until he stopped talking. Glancing up at his face, she was surprised to see him looking down at her with such a look of … what? It was the same look she had seen on his face before, at times when he thought she wasn't paying attention to him, or when he thought she had already drifted to sleep. There was a warmth in that gaze that was disconcerting. "What?" she asked him.

Shaking his head, Dastan murmured, "Just remembering."

"Remembering?" She queried, curious, all thoughts of the danger they were still in disappearing for a moment.

"Mmm," was his only reply, and their eyes locked. Feeling her breath slowing, Tamina simply watched as he leaned forward slowly, his gaze dropping from her eyes.

"Dastan?" she whispered, unsure what was happening, until his head moved further and rested against her shoulder. "Dastan," she said again, her voice louder, and she shook his other shoulder slightly, only to hear him let out a low groan.

"Prince Dastan! Princess!" A voice called nearby, and Tamina looked up in relief.

"Bis?"

The man pushed open the door they were standing behind, rushing forward when he saw that Dastan had collapsed against the Princess' hold and that she couldn't quite support him.

"He's been wounded," she told him quickly.

Bis nodded and simply said, "Garsiv." Wrapping one arm under around the Prince's torso he lifted the man's weight away from the Princess.


	7. Chapter 7

The three of them limped slowly through the building, Tamina following Bis blindly as they avoided soldiers still doggedly searching through what she now realised was an entire barracks.

"This place is like a … rabbit warren ..." She panted, quickly tugging the makeshift bandage they had wrapped around Dastan's shoulder back into place as they rounded yet another corner.

"Homes and bigger buildings all joined together," Bis muttered in reply, his eyes darting around, with one hand tightly gripping his sword while the other clutched at the Prince's body.

Though they kept hurrying, the sounds of the soldiers' armour and shouts became softer and less frequent, and Tamina eventually begged them to stop moving, exhausted. Even though she had spent the last few days scurrying across the desert with the Persian Prince, most of the distance had been covered by horses and hadn't been as harrowing. Though they always knew that it wouldn't be long before someone started following behind them, they had never been so close to their enemy before now, and though this wasn't the time to be glib, Tamina had to admit that fleeing was hard work.

But Dastan's brother had surprised her. In the rare moments when he had spoken of his family, she had seen the love and respect Dastan felt for his father and two brothers, and had assumed that it was a mutual affection between them all. But seeing Garsiv's fury and hearing his harsh words, she had to wonder if what she had thought was even true.

Then she wondered why she even cared to know.

But her thoughts were interrupted when Bis opened one last door, leading them out into a deserted lane. The moon shone bright above them and Tamina breathed in the cool night air, glad to be outside and in the open once more.

"Princess," Bis whispered urgently, waving her over to where he stood by a lone horse what whickered softly, attempting to wake Dastan enough to properly mount up. "Can you … he needs to be held in … can you?"

Despite the situation, Tamina couldn't help but be amused at the way he addressed her. During their outing today she had managed to convince the poor man not to treat her like royalty, but she knew that for the lower classes some habits were hard to unlearn. Touching his shoulder lightly to still his nervousness, she gripped the saddle and swung herself up behind where Dastan now awkwardly sat, hunched forward and loosely clutching at the horse's mane.

"Dastan," she murmured in the man's ear, hesitantly tugging at his waist to try and straighten the way he sat, worried that he may topple as soon as they started moving. "You need to shift. Just to the side here … Okay?"

"Cold," he bit out, his voice wavering. Almost immediately a bundle of cloth was pressed into the Princess' hand, and she looked down at Bis.

"His cloak," he told her, moving to untie the reins from the pillar beside them, then handing them back to Tamina. "Go down this lane. Just go straight, don't stop 'til you see a half crumbled building. There's a stall for the horse and a cellar underneath it."

"You're not coming?" She asked, regretting the nervous tone in her own voice when she asked the question. Suddenly the fears she had that morning returned, and she fretted about where she was, what would happen, how she could keep the dagger safe in a city she didn't even know. Right now she didn't even have Dastan's confident smirk to rally her and settle her mind – only Bis' blind assurance that she'd be alright with the almost unconscious Prince.

"It's just the blood, he'll be fine with food and drink and sleep. It's all packed in these," he told her, slapping a hand against the bulging saddle bags strapped either side of the saddle. Pointing at the Prince's shoulder, Bis told her, "Clean that? Wash, pad, wrap, and he can't use the arm much or it'll tear. Do you know how to use a blade?"

Glancing down at his again, Tamina saw that he was sliding Dastan's twin blades into their sheaths, tucking them in with the rest of their supplies. "I can manage," she assured him, though again she fretted about how true that actually was. Basic defence was one thing, but what if Garsiv and his men found them? She'd be helpless.

"Good," Bis said, nodding eagerly. I gotta go back. Go, quickly Princess. And …" Pausing to glance around the still empty street, he quietly begged her, "Please take care of him," before darting back through the door they had escaped from.

Sighing, Tamina took another deep breath and slid an arm tightly around the Prince's stomach, wrapping the reins up in her other hand and urging the horse forward.

They trotted forward slowly, and the Princess pressed herself close against Dastan's back both to see over his shoulder and to hopefully keep him warm as they moved on.

"You're not allowed to faint," she told him jokingly, her voice light even though she meant every word. "If you fall in the mud I'm going to leave you there."

She felt his shoulders shake slightly with laugher, and smiled.

The adrenaline still coursing through her veins made everything feel like it was happening at record speed, and so it felt as if it only took seconds for her to reach the building Bis had described. Several other homes and awnings were crowded around it, but most looked as run down as the one she was heading toward. Several horses were clustered under an awning a few doors over, and Tamina wondered for a moment if that was where Bis had meant for her to rest theirs.

"Psst!"

Startled, the Princess tugged the horse to a halt, her grip on Dastan tightening.

"Psst!"

Looking around wildly, she soon saw a small boy – skin and bone, covered in the grimiest clothes she had seen – peering out through a shadowed window. The boy didn't come out, but he pointed over to the other horses. Frowning, she asked, "Over there?"

The boy nodded only once but stayed where he was, watching her and the Prince intently.

Smiling in thanks, she shifted the horse around and moved them forward, dismounting carefully so as not to knock the Prince. Tethering the horse with the rest, she then looked up at Dastan, wondering how on earth she was going to get him down and over to the building they were supposed to hide in.

"Psst!"

The boy was a lot closer this time, fidgeting nervously in the dark of another awning next to the horse's make-shift stable. Tamina just looked at him, worried that if she spoke he might spook and run off. So she stood still, one hand resting on Dastan's leg while the other ran over the horse's neck, keeping the beautiful creature calm.

"Is the Prince okay?" Said the boy, his small voice muffled by the hands he clutched nervously near his mouth.

Glancing up at Dastan, the Princess saw that his eyes were open slightly, though his breathing was even more laboured than before. "Are you okay, Prince?" she asked him softly.

"Just a scratch," Dastan said eventually, his voice wavering. "From sword fighting."

The boy's eyes widened in awe, and he scampered away shortly after that.

With Dastan's help, Tamina soon had him down from the horse with one arm slung over her shoulder, her own arm wrapped around his back. She helped him slowly walk over to the decaying building, push the door open, and walk inside. Dust and sand and a single broken chair was all that lay inside the old hut, and Tamina wondered how anyone could let a place fall into such disrepair. But she had no time to worry over that, instead leading Dastan over to where she could see a clear indentation in the woodwork of the floor.

"Get the … supplies," Dastan told her, taking his arm away from her and lowering himself to the ground, tugging the door to the cellar open. "I'll get down."

She would have protested if she hadn't already been wondering how on earth she was going to help him down those stairs without both of them falling into a heap on the ground. That would have done more help than good. Nodding, she hurried back outside, removing both of the saddle bags as well as Dastan's cloak and twin blades, before getting to work on removing the horse's saddle. By the time she was finished and had carried everything back to the steps leading to the cellar, Tamina was aching all over, and she felt as if she could barely keep her eyes open.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs and placing their supplies aside, she climbed back up to close the hatch door, before resting back against the wooden staircase and taking a look around.

The cellar was dimly lit with two flaming torches on two opposing dirt and clay walls – it looked as if this place had been picked and lit for them long before the attack had started. But even with that small amount light, it was quite obvious that this place hadn't been used in quite some time. Refuse and dusty items littered the floor, and she could see old, mostly broken pitchers lining one shelf. The shelf itself looked like it was holding to the wall for dear life. In the middle of it all, Dastan lay sprawled on the floor, cradling his injured shoulder with a frown of pain marring his face. Tamina knew that no matter how tired she was now, she couldn't rest until she had seen to his wound.

Dragging everything over to where he lay, the Princess sank to her knees and looked for the things she would need, all while Dastan was just laying there, eyes closed. Only the sound of his heavy breathing filled the air. Taking a steadying breath of her own once she had all the items laid out in front of her, Tamina looked to the wounded Prince and felt butterflies take flight in her stomach.

"Dastan? You'll need to move so I can remove this shirt." The shoulder of it was torn and ruined anyway, and the blood stain in the light coloured fabric meant that it probably couldn't be used again. No amount of washing could remove that much blood. Slowly unwrapping the bandage and revealing the blood-soaked padding they had used earlier, Tamina removed both and looked at the mangled skin beneath, her breath drawing in on a sharp gasp.

Dastan moved then, pushing himself up with his one good arm and gingerly pulling the ruined shirt away from his body.

Tamina, who hadn't even realised she had been holding her breath, let it out quickly and averted her eyes for just a moment.

She couldn't help it. The human body was not an alien thing to her, and she had certainly seen a man's torso in the flesh before. But viewing the slender form of an older guardian during their prayers and ceremonies and looking upon the lithe body of a warrior in his prime now were two completely different things. To distract her mind from the sight she busied herself with cleaning the wound, careful not to press too hard or to rub the angry, torn flesh, clearing the majority of the dried blood away.

But even her lightest touch was too much for Dastan, who finally slumped against the cool clay floor, unconscious.

Knowing he was unaware of her movements now made the task a lot easier, and Tamina could work a little quicker – though his body still distracted her, and not just because of how sculpted and defined he appeared to be. Many scars and blemishes marked what skin she could see, and she found herself wondering just how many more were still hidden from her sight. This wound was only one of many, but would eventually just become one more scar on a body that had been through many trials already in this life.

That thought lead to another, and the Princess found her gaze dragging up his torso to his face, which had thankfully relaxed now. Without the worry or pain distorting his features, Tamina marvelled at how serene he looked. If only she could erase her own worries in such a way. She didn't know what lay ahead, or what the Gods had planned for her, but she was somewhat thankful now that she had this man at her side to help combat whatever trials they needed to face. Her only wish was that he would suffer no more for his involvement. Once already he had helped her battle his Uncle for her and for the dagger, and he had lost every single one of his loved ones in the process. Then to be thrown back in time to repeat the same fate, understanding what could happen without truly being able to predict it, all the while knowing that he could very well lose everything he held dear all over again …all for her … it had to be frustrating and terrifying all at once.

No, that wasn't right. Both in his time and now he had needed her help to overturn the crimes that had been laid at his feet and to thwart his Uncle's plans to rewrite history. Their futures were entwined – _destiny_ – but they both fought toward the same end for different reasons.

But ultimately, the dagger was what caused it all.

Tightening the knot on the new bandage around his shoulder, she gathered his cloak to her, shaking it out and placing it around his body, covering him and hiding his skin from sight. Her eyes then drifted down to his leather boots and the slight bulge to the side of one of them. Glancing back up to make sure he still slumbered, Tamina tentatively slid her hand down, clasping the hilt of the dagger and drawing it free. Sitting back, she held the item in both hands, tilting the blade to make the few grains of remaining sand trickle from one end of its glass hilt to the other. Only a quarter of what the dagger could hold was left now. That was barely enough time to take a step or two forward, let alone change any critical moment that might arise.

Lifting her golden necklace and the bejewelled glass clasp that was suspended from it, she flipped the caps on both items and poured the last of her supply of Sand into the dagger's hilt. She didn't want to use the dagger unwisely, and had berated Dastan for that very thing not too long ago, but with the situation they found themselves in she didn't want to chance it.


	8. Chapter 8

"_It's been found, my Lord," Zolm murmured, his head pressed back against the meshed cover of the cart._

_"The Sandglass?" He asked, a flurry of joy rushing through him at those words. But closely following the feeling was a sickening shadow of doubt, and he painfully admitted, "I don't have the dagger."_

Nizam's eyes sprang open as he woke. _The dagger._ Rising from his bed and exiting his quarters, the Persian hurried to his desk, pushing aside parchments and texts until he found what he was looking for.

The dagger. Of course.

* * *

xXx

* * *

It was the jarring slice of pain that flashed through his shoulder that finally woke him up with a soft groan. He felt soft hands hesitating, pausing in their movements, before something wet pressed against his skin once more, both soothing and stinging as the moisture seeped into the wound.

Eyes fluttering open slowly, Dastan looked up to see Tamina bent over him, carefully cleaning his shoulder with a damp cloth. Her touch was gentle, but that didn't stop the hiss that escaped him when her hand and the cloth brushed against the torn skin again. Garsiv's sword had bitten deep. Her eyes shifted to meet his, and she smiled apologetically. Reaching up to still her hands for a moment, Dastan used his good arm to try and push himself upright, badly needing to sit up for a moment. As soon as he did though, his head started spinning, and since the movement caused his cloak to slip away from his body the cold hit him instantly.

Groaning, Dastan could only sit there until the cellar stopped spinning so fast, while Tamina hastily covered up his body again. Head bowed, he didn't notice the blush that bloomed in her cheeks, but he noticed her furtive glances once he felt stable enough to sit upright again.

"Find what you were looking for, Princess?" He asked softly, chuckling at his own joke. Would it forever be like this? Finding similarities everywhere, but being the only one who understood his amusement at the situation?

Whatever the answer, seeing Tamina draw herself up and frown at him indignantly was worth repeating the past, even if she had in fact been the one to say it originally.

"I'm keeping an eye on your wound, Persian," she bit out, gathering the old bandages together and pushing them aside.

Distracted, Dastan glanced down at the fabric that was stained a deep rusty brown colour. "I lost a lot of blood," he murmured, sounding almost surprised. Since he'd been too distracted by the pain, he hadn't truly realised the severity of his wound, though the way the cellar still tilted around him combined with the nauseous feeling in his stomach should have proved as much.

Shuffling to his side again, Tamina wadded some cloth strips together and pressed them against his shoulder. "Obviously, otherwise you wouldn't be so tired or … pale." Catching the worried look in her eye when she looked up from her work again, he was surprised when she added, "You look quite sickly."

"Is that concern I hear?" He asked her, reaching up to still her movements for a moment. "Not to worry, Princess. Nothing a few hours of sleep won't cure."

Ignoring his question, Tamina shook away his hand and started to wrap up his shoulder once more. "I somehow doubt that, considering how long you've slept already."

"Oh please, it's what, barely morning now?"

Pausing again in her work, Tamina met his eye and said, "Dastan … You've been sleeping for a while."

"I … what?"

Sighing, she reached behind his shoulder, wrapping the length of cloth over and around his skin. "You've slept a whole day and night. It is morning, but the next day." Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, she said, "I didn't know when you would wake." Reaching behind his shoulder one last time and raising herself onto her knees, Tamina nimbly tied a knot in the cloth, securing the bandage around his shoulder.

Absorbing her words as she did so, Dastan couldn't believe it. He'd wasted all that time just sleeping the day away. Granted he'd been wounded, but he'd continued on with worse than this. He really had lost a lot of blood. Though the mad flight across the desert, coupled with the stress of the last few weeks, he supposed it was understandable. But all that time, wasted! His Uncle could have committed unthinkable things by now. Garsiv could have found them, which meant that the Princess would have been here alone, defenceless.

Looking up at Tamina's face, amused, he took back that thought. This woman wasn't defenceless.

"What are you smiling at?" She asked, a small smile tugging at her own lips.

"I was just wondering how Garsiv would have faired if he'd been unlucky enough to stumble upon you by yourself down here."

"I think I would have managed," she replied wryly, and that only made Dastan chuckle – which made him freeze with a hiss of pain when the movement stretched the skin of his shoulder, and soon after it started throbbing.

"I don't doubt that," he said between gritted teeth, reaching up a hand to gently press against the bandage, a little surprised at how well-made the cover was. "You've done a good job of this," he told her, looking down at his shoulder, admiring the fact that it gave him room to move – something a warrior valued greatly – while still staying put and keeping the wound strapped up and covered.

"You sound surprised," she said, a touch of surprise colouring her own voice as well. "You seem to know most things about me before I even need to tell you of them."

Dastan noted how odd her tone sounded then, and he couldn't tell if she disliked that about him or not. "We had no time to assess your skills as a medic," he told her, dropping his hand away from his shoulder and leaning back, once again using that good arm to hold himself upright as he reminisced. "You ran off after clubbing me over the head, and the only other time I was stabbed in the shoulder, you—" Abruptly he cut himself off, realising what he was about to tell her, and shifted uncomfortably. "You couldn't help then either."

There was a short moment of silence. Then Tamina said his name softly and moved to sit next to him, looking up at him curiously. "What happened? There's times during the day – and night – when you can't take your eyes off me, and the things you say, the things you do, the things you _know_ … it's unnerving to have someone act the way you do without knowing how it came about."

"What are you talking about?" he asked her.

"There's something you're not telling me. Something about … us."

Sighing, Dastan's gaze dropped to the ground. He hadn't wanted to have this conversation. Perhaps later, once they had managed to overcome Nizam and clear his own name, but certainly not now. Now there was no time to sort through the mixed emotions that tumbled through him at the mere sight of her, while she was ignorant to it all; though clearly not _completely_ ignorant, since he apparently hadn't been too subtle around her.

"There was no 'us'," he said softly, allowing himself to sift through his memories, trying to find that point where he had gone from reminding himself that he probably shouldn't kill the Princess of a recently-allied Holy City, to being filled with terror at the thought of her sacrificing herself to stop his Uncle. "There wasn't time." The irony of that thought made him chuckle, but the sound was hollow.

"But if we had the time …?"

"Perhaps," he said with a slight shrug of his good shoulder. "But even if events hadn't unfolded like they did, you were … gone."

Dead silence followed his words, and Dastan looked up to see the Princess' eyes widen and her face pale slightly. "What happened?" she asked, her voice a bare whisper.

"You … Nizam …" The words were sitting at the tip of his tongue, but speaking them aloud was almost impossible. He didn't want to say it, didn't want to tell her how she had died. "We were in the Sandglass chamber. The tunnel Nizam's workers had dug to access the chamber had dislodged the chamber walls, and chucks dropped. I'd fallen and was hanging over the abyss, and … Nizam threw you off the ledge."

She breathed in a quick gasp of breath, no doubt thinking that's how it happened. If only. Then maybe Dastan wouldn't blame himself for not holding onto her tight enough, that if he had only blocked out the pain in his shoulder he would have been able to pull her back up and saved them both.

"I caught your hand as you fell, but you … you refused to hang on. You—"

"I sacrificed myself to save you," she murmured, not looking at him as she did so. She may not recall the memory, but she knew herself well enough to understand what must have happened. "It wasn't my destiny to protect the dagger, or to stop Nizam, it was _yours_."

Hearing those words again, so similar to the words she had spoken as he clung to her arm, only doubled the pain he felt at the memory. Tamina may be sitting beside him now, warm and whole, but he still had the image in his head, and her voice screaming his name as she plummeted …

Oddly his mind cast further back, to a time that was really only moments earlier than when they descended into the Sandglass chamber. They had paused in an alley on their way to one of the tunnelled entrances. She had stopped him, 'cautioned' him, and he had cupped her cheek, promising that it wouldn't be the last time they would be together. It seemed he had been right, but this wasn't what he had meant when he said those words.

"What is it?" She asked him then.

"I'm just remembering. Not long before that we were merely standing in the streets of Alamut, waiting for the guards to pass, and you," glancing up at her he smirked before continuing, "You were worried about me. So I cupped your cheek …" Reaching out with his good arm, he did so now, stroking his thumb against her skin. "And told you that it wouldn't be the last time we would be together."

Tamina's breath had hitched when he reached for her, and she stared at him now with a similar look to the one she had that same day out on the street. And just like that day, he had an almost overwhelming urge to lean forward and press his lips to hers. The throbbing pain in his shoulder seemed to subside, and he was able to ignore the spinning of the cellar around them when he concentrated on her features.

"What did you do then?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"We had to leave," he answered, regretting that fact now. If they had dawdled they wouldn't have been able to stop Nizam in time, but spending a few extra moments with her … that would almost have been worth it.

At his response Dastan thought he saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes, and decided that he had to make use of the opportunity. One arm resting on the ground for balance, he leaned toward her, using his other hand to guide her forward also, and closed his eyes.

But when he felt another flash of pain as his arm buckled from the pressure of supporting his weight, Dastan groaned and let himself fall back against the ground. The sudden return of the throbbing pain in his shoulder, twice as strong as it had been only moments ago, couldn't have been a good sign, and he glanced at the bandaging to see the lightest colouring already beginning to show through the cloth.

"Dastan?" he heard a worried voice, but he couldn't seem to concentrate on the sound as his vision went black. "Dastan?"

* * *

xXx

* * *

After repadding and rewrapping his shoulder, and carefully covering him with his cloak once more to ward off the morning cold, Tamina sat at the Persian Prince's side simply looking down at him, musing over what she had learned and experienced.

Discovering that she had died in his time, that she had essentially forced him to watch as she let herself fall into a rocky abyss in order to help him save the known world from his Uncle and the wrath of the Gods, was both a comforting and terrifying thought. Learning about the events of your own death was never a pleasant experience, and Tamina wondered if the Gods were cruel enough to have decided that her life needed to end so. She recalled all her training, and could even hear the voice of the older Guardians as they drilled into her mind that some destinies could never be rewritten and that certain events must come to pass. Was her death already written?

Dismissing that thought, she concentrated on the slightly comforting aspect of the news. She had sacrificed herself so this man could go on and save their world, effectively allowing him to then use the dagger's forbidden powers to return to her time and help them thwart his Uncle once more. If not for her actions, they would have suffered a much worse fate.

But he had mourned her. _Still_ mourned her, if his behaviour was anything to judge by.

Feeling her cheeks heating again, Tamina let herself contemplate what she thought had been about to happen. She had wanted, almost needed, to press her lips to his. She had wanted to know what that felt like before it was too late. Raising one hand she ran her fingers lightly across her lips, trying to imagine what it might have felt like. Since Dastan was lying unconscious on the ground beside her, she didn't mind allowing herself this one moment of weakness in front of him. He would never remember it after all.

Reaching behind her back to where she had hidden the dagger in her waistband, she stroked the glass hilt, needing the comfort of the familiar and the reassurance that what she was about to do was the right path.

Getting to her feet, Tamina collected her cloak and just one of Dastan's twin blades, before walking toward the wooden ladder that lead back up to the world beyond. Taking one last look over her shoulder at the unconscious Prince, she took a deep breath and pushed open the hatch, leaving him down there alone.


	9. Chapter 9

A chill settled down his spine. It was gradual at first, starting at the back of his neck and sliding down, making his hair stand on end and settling as an uneasy knot in his belly.

Something just wasn't quite right.

He hadn't slept for long, but the pain and the continued bleeding made him slip from consciousness for just a few moments at most. Though with how sluggish his body felt right then it was as if he'd been asleep for weeks. That thought alone put him on guard. Reaching out blindly to where he always kept his blades, his blood started to run cold when his hand only came into contact with one worn hilt. He always kept them within reach, even if he was wounded. It was an old habit developed from the basic need to protect himself, one that had assuredly come in handy over the years. So to find one missing now made even his subconscious mind start to churn and worry.

Someone had been here.

Eyes flashing open, Dastan otherwise lay perfectly still as he took stock of the cellar. Not a single thing moved in the relatively small space, besides the soft flickering of the burning torches on the walls. When his gaze finally landed on the lone blade lying on the floor, his thoughts started moving quicker, and realisation set in.

Someone had left here.

With one of his prized blades.

_Tamina_.

* * *

xXx

* * *

Clutching the cloak tighter around her frame, making sure the hood covered enough of her face to hide her features in shadow, Tamina ducked into the rickety old stable, carefully shutting the already repaired door behind her, though not before checking to see if anyone had followed her. She may not have strayed far from the sheltered walls of Alamut in her admittedly short lifetime, but she knew enough to realise that there were other people with similarly selfish intentions as the infamous Nizam that she needed to watch out for.

However, when her gaze moved to take in the stable around her, her hopes fell when she saw that it was deserted. Not a single piece of tack hung from its wooden walls. Hurrying forward, her eyes moving from stall to stall as she went, Tamina entered the rear walkway and started to systematically search the back rooms, moving from door to door, checking for any sign of inhabitancy. But she was beginning to realise that she was far too late.

After the violent attack the day before last, Dastan's small company had already cleared out.

Almost growling in frustration, Tamina paused in the room she had entered and paced slowly, unsure of how to proceed. She knew little of this city, and even less of its layout. How could she possibly find her quarry if she didn't even know where to start her search?

Too caught up in her thoughts to notice the other person entering the room, a change in the air behind her was the only warning she had before a large armoured arm wrapped around her shoulders and a hand clamped down over her mouth, stifling her scream. Immediately she started fighting against the iron grip, but the strong arms held her tight, not allowing her a single inch of freedom.

"Clearly my little brother doesn't know when enough is enough," growled a rough voice, and Tamina's struggles lessened slightly when she realised who it was. "He had to steal away with Alamut's prized jewel as well."

Her eyes growing wide at his words, Tamina felt her heartbeat speed up to an impossibly faster rate. Did he know about the dagger? How could he possibly even be aware of its existence? The Princess' mind whirled and she quietened in the Persian's arms. Sensing this, Garsiv allowed his hold to slacken slightly.

His mistake.

Throwing her head back she felt and heard the sickening crunch of her skull against the metal of his helm, which in turn crushed the soft tissue of his nose. As he cried out in pain, Tamina wrestled free of his grasp and put some distance between herself and the Persian, drawing Dastan's blade as she did so.

* * *

xXx

* * *

Steadying himself yet again on another pillar, cursing his weakness, Dastan ignored the bustling street around him and focussed instead on finding Tamina. He was still suffering the effects of the blood loss and he hated the drained feeling he had, especially because it was hindering him so. Setting his gaze on his target, a turn in the road ahead, Dastan pushed away from the pillar and made sure his cloak still covered his face before walking on.

He was still the traitorous son of Persia and he couldn't be seen by the ever-watchful eyes that he knew were hidden amongst the crowds. Those who dwelled in the slums, who either knew of or had heard of his history, protected their own. They wouldn't believe the lies that Nizam was spreading. But there were people in the city who would sell their own family for the reward on his head.

A brief flash of amusement made his lips kick up in a smile as he thought of a clever sheik that would have done that exact thing had he gotten his hands on Dastan again.

Forging forward, Dastan made his way through the busy crowd, heading for the one place he knew Tamina could find her way back to. He'd start his search there, but if she had left the city he'd be hard-pressed to track her down in his current condition.

It was small consolation that she carried the dagger.

He only prayed that she would use it if all else failed.

* * *

xXx

* * *

"You Persians are more barbarous than I thought," she sneered, holding the heavy blade in one hand as she backed away from the Prince. "How dare you attack a defenceless woman from behind, pawing her with those disgusting hands of yours? What does your precious honour have to say about that?"

Even from beneath the battered metal of his helm, Tamina could see the Prince's eyes flashing with fury. He drew a hand away from his face, revealing the tracks of blood that now ran over his lip and down his chin.

"You're obviously not _defenceless_," he spat, drawing his own sword from its sheath. "What did my brother hope to accomplish when he stole away with you? Was he stupid enough to believe we'd let him go as long as he returned Alamut's precious Princess?" His jeering expression and sarcastic tone made her grit her teeth, not truly wanting to argue back and provoke the already angry man. Blood was still flowing freely down his chin from where she had hit him, but he seemed to be ignoring the pain, focussing instead on her and the sword she held, beginning to circle around the room.

"He thought nothing of the sort," she retorted, eyes darting around to find an exit, a place to hide, something that might help her against him. "He didn't take me – I came willingly." Eyes darting forward again to meet his, she said, "I was the one who helped him escape, and I _will_ help him save the world against your Uncle."

A low growl emitted from Garsiv's throat, and she almost jumped at the sound. "I've heard all these lies before, Princess, of Nizam's wish to kill us all, to take the throne for himself, to rule as Persian King. It's impossible!"

Shaking her head vehemently, Tamina continued to move, keeping the distance between them, wanting to prove to Garsiv that what she and Dastan were saying was true. "Not if he had the right tools at his disposal."

That seemed to get his attention.

* * *

xXx

* * *

Most of the city's streets were busiest at noon, so despite the drain it put on his body Dastan weaved his way toward his small company's stable using as many dark alleys and lesser used roads as possible. He was worn out, tired, but he forced himself to move on.

He didn't know where Tamina might be, or what kind of danger she had put herself into, and that thought was what kept him going. He'd already lost her once; he wasn't strong enough to lose her again.

About to step out of the alleyway he was in and onto the street beyond, Dastan spotted a familiar black gelding tied to the railing outside the stable and instinctively darted back into the shadows. Taking a deep breath, making sure his cloak still sat securely and covered his features from view, he peered around the edge of the building, eyes trained on the entrance to the stable.

His heart raced as he searched the rest of the street, looking for any other sign of Garsiv's cavalry, but there was no one else connected to Garsiv in sight, and no other military horses in the area.

Frowning, Dastan stepped out into the open, walking casually toward the stable door. It was propped wide open, and even after the years of stomping feet that had compacted the sand around the doorway, it was still obvious that someone – two someones – had traversed here recently.

Stepping inside after taking one last look over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching, Dastan looked around sadly at the deserted stalls. For years he and his men had made their barracks here. To see it empty and void of life now was depressing and only made his hatred toward Nizam grow.

He was the cause of all this pain.

Moving toward the back of the stable, Dastan turned into the main hallway and started searching the rooms, determination making him forget the pain in his shoulder and pushing him to find where Garsiv and Tamina had gone.

Hopefully he'd find them both, _before_ it was too late.

* * *

xXx

* * *

"Beneath my city lies a divine sandglass of power, one that has the ability to reverse entire lifetimes. But the Gods frown upon those who misuse their treasures, and your Uncle will bring destruction to the world if he pursues this madness."

"Rubbish," Garsiv spat, advancing on her. "Do you really think I would believe your dirty lies, Princess? Magic sand that turns back time, bah. It's foolish, a child's bedtime story!"

Tamina shook her head, her eyes imploring him to believe her. "I've seen its power with my own eyes, and I know what it is capable of." Twisting to pull the dagger from her sash, she grasped the hilt and held it high, showing him the intricate design and letting the dull light of the room flash on the jewelled cap. "This dagger is the key. It holds but a minute of the Sandglass' power. If your Uncle were to get his hands on this …" Her voice trailed away and she suppressed the shudder that threatened to wrack her body. The thought of Nizam succeeding, of bringing chaos to the world just so he could be King, truly sickened her.

Garsiv's gaze hardened and he brandished his sword at her. "You and Dastan think you are so damned clever, spinning these tales of treachery. Nizam is our Uncle!" His voice rose, the tone coloured with anger and frustration, as he circled around her, around the room. "He has spent his life defending our father, defending our Kingdom! Dastan has gone mad!"

"He has not!" She shouted back, tightening her hold on Dastan's sword, preparing herself for the worst – even though she knew she would never triumph against a seasoned warrior such as the one in front of her. "He has risen from the depths of your city and stood by your side since childhood! He has loved and fought for this Kingdom as much as you have, why would he now turn his back on it? What would he gain from lying about this?" Glaring at him, she added, "What could _I_ gain from lying about this?"

It was then that she finally saw it; the slither of doubt, a flash through Garsiv's eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it came, and the sneer that crossed his face showed anything but belief.

"Bah!" He spat, circling on, watching her, waiting for … something. An opening? A crack in her tale, a flaw in her defence?

She felt despair. If Dastan's own brothers wouldn't believe them, how could they ever overcome Nizam? They would be fighting every bit of the way, and even if they did away with him for good, they would forever be shunned, their sins turning from traitors to murderers.

If only someone had possessed the courage to do away with the dagger long ago. If only someone had been willing to sacrifice all, to allow the dagger or the temple's ancient walls to claim their life, then this would all be over, and these Persians would never need to know this pain.

Staring down at the dagger in her hand, watching the sand trickle down its length, Tamina knew what she had to do.

Allowing the power of the temple to take her life would have been painless, a fleeting moment of regret before the Gods reclaimed her guardian soul. She knew Dastan could not have known about the _other_ way to negate the Sandglass' curse, or he would never have allowed her near the dagger, but it was a lesson taught to all Guardians early in their lives.

The dagger was the key, if all else failed.

* * *

xXx

* * *

Raised voices echoed through the hallways around him and although the words were garbled, he could clearly make out his brother's tone, quickly followed by Tamina's. They were arguing loudly and vehemently about something.

About him. About the dagger.

Cursing the Princess' foolishness for provoking his admittedly hot-headed brother, Dastan moved on, his urgency to find them only increasing. He followed the maze of the building, knowing each area from years of use, but unable to pinpoint exactly where their voices were coming from.

Until he turned one final corner.

"I should have had the strength to do this before," he heard her say, though even still he couldn't determine which room they were in. Hurriedly pushing open another door only to find yet another empty room, Dastan cursed his inability to move faster. But he slowly stopped in his search, replaying her voice and words in his head, his mind halting at what he had heard.

He recognised those words and his fear only mounted when he listened to what was said next.

"To do what?" That quizzical tone was definitely Garsiv's. Dastan sprang into action, running down the hall to the last two remaining rooms that he hadn't checked, pushing one of the door open to reveal an empty room.

Turning to the last, his hand closed around the worn handle just as he heard the words he had prayed weren't about to come next.

"To do what I know is right, no matter the consequences."

_To do what I know is right, no matter the consequences._

His heart in his throat, the Persian Prince burst through the last door, ignoring the throbbing pain tearing through his shoulder, and looked on in dread as history repeated itself before his eyes.

Only this time, he was just a witness.

He watched in horror as Tamina raised the dagger high above her head before bringing it down sharply, plunging the tip straight into her stomach.

A strangled cry ripped through the air, and it wasn't until he stumbled into the room that he realised it was his own.

"Tamina … " He whispered, dropping to his knees.

* * *

xXx

* * *

He watched in shock, numbly reaching forward to catch her in his arms before she fell to the stone floor. Blood bloomed as she drew her last rasping breath, and he felt his blood run cold when he saw the life leach from her body.

"Why?" His voice was strangled, barely managing to croak out that single word, and he was unable to comprehend the reasoning for her sacrifice. What in God's name had she done? What could be so damned important that she would sacrifice her life like this?

His gaze rose slowly to clash with the sorrowful eyes of his brother, and he knew. She did it because she believed in him, because all the tales that he and their brother were fed had in fact dripped from the lips of a serpent.

Looking down at her now lifeless form, his mind traced back over her words. A minute, she had said. That was all that the small dagger contained.

He was running out of time.

Lifting the dagger from her limp hands, Garsiv glanced at Dastan one last time. Their tale was hair-brained and ridiculous, and couldn't possibly be true. They spoke of Gods different to his own, of powers beyond his understanding.

And he was stupid enough to begin to believe them.

Pressing the jewelled hilt, he gasped as the sands swept him away.

* * *

xXx

* * *

They had searched for days, scouring the barren deserts for a trace of their wandering foe, delighting when they discovered a hint of the runaway royals and feeling a raging anger when they lost the trail once more. But he had found them now, he was sure. Emotions were high, blood had been spilt, and he heard the faintest sound of a city beyond.

They had made it to Nasaf.

For a moment he let his mind hang blissfully suspended, memorising the feel and texture of the vision he was seeing, running a tongue over his dry – so very dry – lips.

He was glad he did.

There was a light ripple, one that was almost imperceptible in the chaos of the moment, but he felt it to his core. Immediately the vision swirled before his eyes, the air itself seemingly shifting and parting so he could watch the scene unfold clearly, as if he was standing in the dull, enclosed room with them.

It was then that he felt the second movement, one that was immensely more powerful than a ripple and his lips peeled back in a snarl of pleasure. The air churned once more, drawing up the dirt from the desert floor as it did so, and another picture manifested itself before him.

And there it was; a crack in the very fabric of time. A mighty sandglass formed before him, and he could clearly see the splinters already spreading over its glass face.

The Princess had tried to bring an end to it all, but she had failed. Someone had used the dagger to spare her life, and the Gods must not be happy at being denied the debt they wished to claim back.

"To Nasaf!" He barked, moving to mount his horse. "Quickly!"

* * *

_**Author's Note:**__ It has been a recurring reminder throughout this story that time sometimes has to repeat itself, so I hope Tamina's actions won't scare any of you too much! Not to worry, all will be explained in the next chapter ;) This one was quite choppy compared to the others, but that was just to show the timeline and each of the character's reactions. It'll return to normal next._

_It's been a busy few … months! I've had quite a bit going on and have also been rather distracted with Glee (hehe), but not only that … this chapter was hard to write – which I'm sure you guys can understand! I know exactly what I want to happen, but getting the right words out to convey what the characters are experiencing, all while still keeping to the plot … you know it's tough sometimes! Anyway, the point was: I fell behind with this story. But don't fret – it's definitely not being shelved. I have every intention to continue and finish this._

_I have to thank each and every one of you for your fantastic reviews – especially to the few that continue to leave a review for each chapter I update. You guys are inspirational (and unbelievably patient with me!) and this wouldn't be nearly as much fun without you :)_


	10. Chapter 10

Dastan burst through the door.

Tamina raised the dagger high.

Garsiv reached out to grab her arms.

Everyone froze. The moment was tense, but Garsiv looked at the Princess in wide-eyed astonishment and muttered, "A moment ago you died before my eyes." She had been on the ground. The acrid scent of blood, not the same blood that had been drying on his lip, had reached him, and he had seen the puddle form and spread across the old floor.

Then he was holding the dagger in his hands and pressing the jewel at its hilt, and everything had started moving in reverse.

Her body shifted, hunching over then standing up entirely. Dastan had moved back out the door and closed it behind him, and Garsiv watched as the mystical dagger was roughly pulled from the Princess' body by her own hands and raised high in the air once more. What had startled him the most was _how_ he'd watched all this unfold. It was like he had been detached from his own body, and if the scene before his eyes hadn't startled him enough, the sight of his arm lit up and blazing like it was burning from the inside out shook him to the core.

It wasn't natural.

But here he was, apparently returned to his own body, and holding the Princess' arms.

What had her Gods done to him?

* * *

xXx

* * *

Tamina's face was blank as she stared at the Prince in front of her, not shifting away from him or relinquishing her hold on the dagger. Then a bewildered expression slowly started to appear, and she asked softly, "You pressed it?"

The Persian, possibly looking even more confused now than he did a moment ago, replied, "You didn't want me to?"

"No, I didn't." _Yes, I did._

The relief curling through her body, warming places she didn't know had turned cold, was both welcomed and detested. She was an Alamutian Guardian, sworn to protect the dagger and the Sandglass at all costs! She should not feel so grateful for having her life spared.

"Tamina …" whispered a voice nearby, and her gaze moved toward Dastan, who she hadn't realised was even there until that moment.

"Dastan?" She asked, confusion setting in. He stumbled forward and Tamina allowed him to wrap her up in his arms, drawing her close. The Princess buried her face against his shoulder, relishing the feel of his arms around her and the warmth he emitted.

"What were you _thinking_?" He asked, somehow tugging her closer.

"This needed to end," she said, her already quiet voice muffled against the cloth of his cloak. "Without the dagger, your Uncle wouldn't succeed." But it hadn't worked. She both cursed and thanked Garsiv for his interference; on the one hand damning him for stopping her and on the other grateful that he had given her a second chance.

She hadn't truly wanted to give up her life.

Caught up in her own thoughts, she didn't hear what either Prince was saying until Garsiv's voice cut through.

"What do you mean, 'without the dagger'? How would killing yourself rob him of that?"

It hit her then that Garsiv was standing quite calmly at the side of the room. His sword was now sheathed and besides the confusion colouring his features he didn't look at all fazed that his brother was standing in the room with them. She felt the need to ask him why, but knew that those questions would have to wait until later. They had more pressing matters to attend to now. Dastan pulled away from her slightly then, clearly interested in the answer as well. There was a hint of suspicion in his eyes, and she guessed that meant he had already surmised that there was something else she wasn't telling him.

"There is a temple, hidden away in the mountains," she started, for Garsiv's benefit. Once again reciting the dagger's lore and history in the company of those who weren't inducted into the Temple felt unnatural to her, but she pressed on. Dastan, at least, would be unlikely to let this rest until she explained herself. "That is the site where the Gods first gifted man with the dagger as a means of controlling or destroying the Sandglass." Dastan nodded along, having already known this part of her tale. Garsiv on the other hand looked even more confused, but she didn't have the heart to explain everything to him right in that moment. "If ever the dagger was in danger it would be taken away from Alamut and back to the mountain where the Guardians – the protectors of the dagger – could watch over it. If the dagger's safety was ever compromised, a Guardian could place the dagger back into the crevasse where it was found and the mountain would envelop it once more – but at a cost."

"Their life?" Garsiv asked, following that part of the story at least. Of course he would understand that piece – as a hardened warrior, he would know that everything came at a cost for someone.

"Yes," she nodded, looking up to meet Dastan's eyes for a moment before dropping them to his chest once more. His arms tightened around her for just a second before loosening slightly again. "Only a Guardian of the temple can return the dagger. The experience is said to be painless, a merciful death. The Sandglass' power would then be gone and the sand and the glass itself would crumble to the ground. But …"

All three stayed silent for a moment, the two brothers waiting for her to continue, and Tamina trying to draw the strength to admit what she had tried to do.

Eventually Garsiv, ever impatient, interrupted the silence and prodded, "_But_?"

"But there is another way," she conceded, once again looking up at Dastan.

* * *

xXx

* * *

In his mind he couldn't quite believe that she was still hiding things from him, even after all this time. Granted she hadn't know him for anywhere near as long as he had known her, but it still hurt that she wouldn't tell him the whole truth.

But above all those thoughts and feelings thrummed a strong sense of relief. He knew what she had done, what she had wanted to do, and though he didn't yet understand why Garsiv had not only believed her about the dagger's powers but had also saved her life, he knew that could wait until later.

She was alive, that was the important thing.

Tamina pulled away from him then, wrapping her arms around herself and letting her gaze move between him and his brother. "Taking the dagger back to the mountain is preferred, as where it is placed gives an advantageous view of the surrounding area, making it easy to spot intruders. Also … as I said, that method is said to be painless." Taking a deep breath, she added, "But a Guardian can use the dagger itself to sacrifice their life to the Gods, essentially giving back the life that the Gods spared when they first swept the sands into the Sandglass."

Dastan stared at her, fury and sadness coursing through him at her words. She would have taken her own life, robbing him and the world of her vibrancy and wit, without even a word. Just like that.

If he had been seconds later, or if Garsiv hadn't stopped her hand, he would never have even said goodbye. Again. The terrified screams she had let out as she tumbled into the pit of the Sandglass chamber echoed through his mind, and he shuddered. That was a pain he hoped to never relive again, in this time or any other.

"It negates the power of the Sandglass, same as taking the dagger to the mountain would," she was saying, now only looking at Garsiv, not at him.

"Why would you do that?" He asked, stepping forward and placing his hands against her elbows, eyes seeking hers. _Why wouldn't you talk to me first?_

Finally her gaze lifted to his, and she said softly, "It seemed the best way forward. Without the dagger your Uncle would have no way of ascending to the throne, no way of changing history or of thwarting you and your brothers. Without the dagger his plans would come to nought and you would be able to stop him."

Frowning, wondering why she didn't understand, he started to say, 'But without you …' when Garsiv cleared his throat.

"I hate to interrupt this touching scene," his brother said, looking intently at where the couple stood, clearly a little bemused by what was happening in front of him. "But this all boils down to our Uncle and his desire to kill the royal family. We must ride to Alamut." Looking directly at Dastan, he continued. "_We_ must convince our brother and father of Nizam's lies."

Silently, with just a simple shared look, Dastan thanked his brother. He wasn't sure what had made him change his mind so quickly, or what had transpired between him and Tamina before he burst through the door, but he was thankful to have his brother at his side once more. He also made a mental note to question the Princess over how Garsiv's bloodied nose had come about.

But Tamina, apparently, wasn't so happy about the Persians' amendment to their plans.

"_No._" Her tone was resolute. "Your Uncle is a menace and is solely focussed on capturing the dagger for his own selfish needs. I cannot allow the dagger to be in the same city as the Sandglass while he is still loose."

Garsiv, unperturbed by her stubborn tone or her strong stance, simply raised one brow at her, a soft smirk playing across his lips as he blatantly ignored her words. "I'll leave my men here – no point leading a full cavalry across the desert when the bulk of the Persian army is sitting on our Uncle's doorstep."

Seemingly taken aback by his response, Tamina pulled away from Dastan and faced the other Persian. "Did you not hear me, Prince? Perhaps you should clean your ears of all that desert sand, or do I need to speak a little slower for you? We are _not_ taking the dagger back to Alamut."

Dastan looked up, meeting his brother's gaze once more. A gaze that was rife with amusement. What had been a tense moment only minutes before now had turned into a shared joke between the two Persian brothers. It felt somehow wrong for the two of them to find humour in what was a very serious matter, but of the three Persian Princes, Dastan and Garsiv had always stayed a little childish at heart, leaving the bulk of their responsibilities for Tus to shoulder.

Perhaps having Garsiv at his side would be even more advantageous than he thought.

But of course, his mind recalled the last time he had been able to change his brother's mind, and what had followed next. It hadn't escaped his notice that certain events from his time had manifested again, altered and changed slightly, but still essentially the same.

Reaching forward to clasp Garsiv's hand, ignoring Tamina's protests in the background, he hoped that in this instance the Gods would spare his beloved brother's life.

* * *

xXx

* * *

Watching as the eldest's small company road out, the hooves of their horses kicking up dust and sand and obscuring their departure from the city, he tried valiantly to mask the smile that threatened to appear and the glee that was bubbling up inside of him.

They were fools, all of them. How had he ever born into such a family? It amused and frustrated him to no end that the second most cunning member of the Persian royals wasn't actually royalty at all! A pesky thief born in the slums and granted a Prince's life.

He would relish the day he could leave that brat to die on the streets.

"These are grave times," the King murmured, hands clasped together as he watched the retreating form of his son and the other riders with him. "When family is against family, brother against brother, it is bad news for us all."

Nizam looked over at his brother, keeping his contempt for the old man in check as he had for all these years past. As always, Sharaman's words were vague but deep, and Nizam had to wonder, as he had several times over the last few days, if his brother spoke of more than just his sons. "It is terrible indeed, but justice must be served. All your work would come to nought if you stayed your hand against your own family. A wise King is not always merciful." _Wise King, bah,_ he thought to himself. _A wise man would have realised long ago that an enemy was hiding in the midst of his own family._

Sharaman's eyes stayed trained on the desert that stretched before them, not once sparing a look at his younger brother and oldest advisor. "A wise man, King or no, should not have to deliver justice or mercy to his own family." Turning, the old King slowly walked back through the large gate, back into the Alamutian city and toward where their horses lay in wait to convey them back to the palace.

Gritting his teeth, Nizam followed suit, his eyes boring into the back of the older man's shoulders. No matter if he suspected, even if that possibility was completely absurd. He and his brother were alone at last, and he no longer risked the intervention of those dratted Princes.

The King's time had come.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**__ With our heroes imminent return to Alamut the end is fast approaching ;) But there is much more planned so you have a few chapters to look forward to yet. All I have to say is: I hope none of you want to smack me over the head for the next chapter!_


	11. Chapter 11

Sitting stiffly on her horse, Tamina ignored the pain in her thighs and the ache in her back as they trotted back across the desert toward her city. The two Persians had blatantly ignored her, disregarding her refusal to leave and not even listening to her protests against taking the dagger anywhere near their wretched Uncle. But then the two had stopped, pausing their strategising for a moment to speak to her, and she was annoyed that they had managed to placate her so quickly.

It was hard not to find strength in their steadfast belief in their own abilities to keep both her and the dagger safe. It was a wonder that the two of them weren't related, as they were alike in far too many ways, their self-confidence only the peak of their similarities.

One difference that still puzzled her though was Garsiv's reluctance to believe what she had confided in him about the dagger. Or rather, his reaction to her words before he used the item himself to stop her from ending it all. A childish story, or something like that, was what he had called it, and yet he must have believed some of her tale or he never would have used the dagger. She guessed that it was the shock of seeing the dagger's power with his own eyes that caused his sudden change of heart, but she had an urge to find out for sure. The man seemed far too steadfast – too stubborn – to change his mind so easily.

She had tried questioning him about it before they left Nasaf, but he had shrugged off her questions and focussed instead on the task ahead – getting them safely through the desert and within the walls of Alamut to confront Nizam.

But now they were riding across the desert, with the sun low in the sky in the afternoon and Nasaf far behind them. They were in the middle of nowhere, with only dunes, sand, dirt, and stone cliffs rising to the east surrounding them. But the two Persians forged on with determination, and Tamina resolved to adopt a similar strength of mind. They had to defeat Nizam and defend both their kingdom and hers. There was no other way but to battle their enemy head on, rather than hiding away in a city some days away.

With that in mind she road peacefully but uncomfortably, still envying the ease with which the two Princes sat on their horses. Even Dastan, who shouldn't be riding at all let alone trekking across the desert, was riding with confidence. He had bled through his dressings – again – trying to find her earlier in the city, and she had berated him for his lack of sense. But now that Garsiv was with them it was as if he had found his purpose again, a pocket of inner strength, and was pushing through and making himself go on.

In fact, he had ridden ahead of the other two a little, checking the dunes and rocky plains ahead, leaving her and Garsiv to ride alone in silence.

The silence was a comfortable one, but with her head constantly filled with questions and worries, she wished it had been her companion who had stayed behind and not his older brother. Garsiv's horse ambled along beside hers and its rider had rarely taken his eyes off the desert in front of them since they had started out. He'd scarcely said a word to either of them, keeping to himself and his thoughts and choosing to ride in silence.

Until now.

"I am not like my father, or our eldest brother," he said after a time, still staring at the horizon ahead. "I do not adhere to the teachings of faith. I respect them, but not as much as I respect the weight and strength of a blade in my hand, or my enemy advancing in front of me. I respect man much more than I respect the Gods." Finally drawing his gaze away from that elusive point in the distance, he looked sidelong at her and said, "What you showed me was not of man, but of something else. I could feel it, I could see it, and I had to believe it. That was more real to me than any faith taught from dusty tombs and misguided practises."

He opened his mouth to say more, but closed it again and faced forward. They fell into silence once again.

But this time Tamina was happy to stay quiet. She was a little stunned, but realised that she felt a little thankful that in all this mess, and after her stupid suicidal decision earlier, they had at least gained Garsiv's trust and opened his eyes a little.

Looking forward, feeling like she had at least accomplished something, her eyes caught sight of a cloud of stirred sand ahead. Garsiv too had seen it, and he gripped the reins tighter with one hand, the other falling automatically to the hilt of the sword strapped to his side.

Just then Dastan came riding back over the dunes toward them. "Persians," was all he managed to push out through his panted breath.

His brother nodded, narrowing his eyes on their visitors ahead. "Maybe eight of them," he added eventually, drawing his horse to a halt just as Dastan did the same.

Tamina draw her mare back behind them, guiding the horse to circle around and stop beside the two men and watched the cloud of sand that quickly drew nearer.

Soon it was easier to make out the riders coming toward them, and both men drew their swords. The Princess in turn drew out the Dagger of Time, since it was the only weapon she had at her disposal.

"It's Tus."

Tus' small company of soldiers rode in fast, altering their formation as they drew nearer to circle around the three of them. The Prince himself brought his horse around to stop directly in front of Dastan, who dismounted and stepped forward to face him. His twin blades glinted in the sun, and Tamina worried about the fact that while Garsiv at least wore armour beneath his cloak, Dastan was vulnerable to any attack Tus might launch.

"I wager you wish you had kept your soldiers with you now," she whispered to the Prince still mounted on his horse beside her.

Garsiv sent her a withering glance but said nothing.

* * *

xXx

* * *

The three Princes simply stared at each other for a time, not uttering a word, until Tus' gaze moved to the middle brother.

"Garsiv, you found them." Eyeing the Alamutian Princess warily, he added, "My thanks. Ride with us back to Nasaf to deliver his sentence."

"Not so fast, brother," Garsiv interrupted. "You need to hear him out."

It looked as if Tus could barely resist the urge to roll his eyes, instead saying in an exasperated tone, "You've fallen for his lies? Garsiv, he may have been our brother but now he's nothing more than a criminal, a traitor to the crown and a threat to our family."

Every time Dastan heard those words it made his gut twist in anguish. How could his own family say such things? "The real threat is in Alamut, plotting to take the crown for himself," he said, loud enough for them all to hear.

"Lies," Tus spat out. "All lies, all—"

"You have not seen what I have seen," their brother interrupted, his horse pawing at the ground restlessly. It must have sensed its rider's distress. "Dastan speaks the truth!" He turned to Tamina then, beseeching her. "Show them its power."

The Princess looked up at him, a helpless look on her face. "I can't," she told him, lifting the dagger to show them all. "I used up all the sand. The dagger is useless without it; just another knife."

Scowling, Garsiv muttered, "And a blunt one at that."

"Is this the pagan device Dastan raved about days ago?" Tus demanded, his eyes darting between his two brothers. "Well, where is its power? You have no proof!"

"I've seen it with my own eyes, Tus! Dastan's telling the truth, you can put your faith in him!"

"But Nizam—"

Dastan stepped forward, drawing everyone's attention. "Nizam has been lying to us for years. He wants the throne, Tus, and he'll do anything to get it."

Tus looked on indecisively while his soldiers shifted nervously around them. They would listen to their leader's orders, but the things that the other Princes were saying were clearly worrying for them.

Tamina, who had tried to stay silent, shifted her horse forward slightly, jolting Dastan. "Dastan," she hissed urgently. Turning slightly to see her, he frowned when he realised that her gaze wasn't on Tus or the men in front of them, but on some point beyond them all, west of where they stood now. Following her gaze, his features hardened and he began to fear for the worst.

"My brothers, we have much bigger things to worry about now than this quarrel between us." Pointing with the tip of his blade, Dastan indicated the seven twisted clouds of sand that could be seen not far from where they argued, rapidly making their way across the desert and toward their small gathering.

Sparing a glance to his right, Tus scoffed and announced, "They're sand dervishes, Dastan. What of it?"

They had no time to explain. Those warriors would be on them within moments, and then they would all be fighting for their lives. Their party barely outnumbered their enemy, and he somehow doubted the soldiers here would be any kind of match for the trained assassins heading toward them.

"Do you remember the Hassansins?" He asked, turning to face his companions.

Frowning, Garsiv nodded. "But they were disbanded years ago."

Shaking his head, Dastan told them, "Not disbanded, only smuggled away and left to train in secret. They were Nizam's personal project, hidden away somewhere in our kingdom for a time when he would need them, which apparently is now. They're at his beck and call, and are hunting down the dagger – and us."

Garsiv turned away from Tus then, pushing through the soldiers while still on horseback and facing the incoming threat head on.

"What are you doing?" Tus asked, drawing his horse around to stand beside his brother. Their movements alerted the other soldiers who shifted their horses to form a steady line behind the two Princes, leaving Dastan and Tamina to stand behind them all alone with their horses.

"We have no reason not to believe that these are the Hassansins, Tus. Think, damn you."

But the time for thinking had come to an end. One of the approaching riders let out an ear splitting war cry, spurring the Persian soldiers to draw their weapons and stand ready. But it was too late. The soft whistle of sharp darts could be heard over the sound of hoof beats in the air, and several of Tus' men's horses squealed, rearing up and tossing their riders to the ground.

A few men stayed where they fell, silver blades protruding from their chests. Two wounded horses kicked and screamed in pain on the desert sand, but the company of Persians didn't have time to tend to them.

"Dastan, the dagger," Tamina murmured, clutching at the hilt where it hung from the sash at her waist.

Pulling his horse away, sending it trotting off and away from them, Dastan replied, "Stay behind us, behind me. Don't stray far. Here." Turning to see that she was dismounting he handed her one of his blades, finding small amusement in the fact that it was the same one she had stolen from him that morning. "Don't think, just strike."

Her decisive nod was all he saw before he turned to face the oncoming menace.

Hassansin riders charged through their small group, scattering the Persian soldiers and making their brittle formation falter, then fall entirely. Swords clashed, voices yelled, and their ears were filled with the sound of thundering hoof beats.

Garsiv surged forward, engaging the beastly hulk of the man with the iron sword, his horse's light feet allowing him to sweep past and strike at him while still keeping his body at a distance.

Dastan looked up to see Tus dismounting, walking over to stand beside him.

"This is not over, brother," Tus said, meaning the disagreement that currently lay between them.

"Not by a long shot." And it wasn't. Until Nizam was dead, this wouldn't end.

Tus, surprised by his reply, paused for a moment and then said, "I'm glad to have you at my back."

Hi lips kicking up into a small smile, Dastan replied, "Glad you trust me enough to be there."

But the short brotherly moment was killed when Tamina screamed, "Look out!"

Again the whistle of blades cut through the air and the maniacal laughter of the Hassansin followed as he rode past, leering at them all but too close to unleash his deadly accurate darts. Both brothers struck out with their swords at the horse's legs as he cantered by, but they swung in vain.

Then he saw him. A scarred man stood away from the battle, watching the everything unfold before him with a disgusting look of joy crossing his features. Dastan started forward, meaning to engage him, but a soft hand on his elbow held him back.

It was Tamina, of course. "Dastan, no!" She held his arm tighter, wanting him to stay by her side, but he shook her off.

"Stay with Tus."

"But—!"

"Stay with Tus!" He said again. He could see that she didn't like being ordered around but still retreated back, standing next to his brother and looking about her, alert.

Swiftly moving forward, he smiled grimly when the Hassansin spotted him, a broad smile crossing his own scarred face.

"You're the one," he said as Dastan approached.

His sword tightly held in his hand, Dastan shifted his stance and prepared to attack. "We should have killed you all those years ago, instead of allowing you to roam free."

"Destiny manifests in obscure ways."

"Well I see death in your destiny," he growled, striking down with his sword. The Hassansin drew a blade surprisingly quickly from beneath his cloak and deflected the blow.

"As do I in yours." Stabbing his blade forward, he caught Dastan by surprise, following the attack with a swing to his left, which Dastan could barely deflect. The fumbled movement jarred the Persian's wounded arm, making him grit his teeth to bear the pain.

The Hassansin's cold blue eyes widened when he realised that the other man was wounded, and Dastan didn't doubt that he'd press his advantage. Breaking away, he stumbled back to circle around the cloaked shell of a man.

"She has angered the Gods." The Hassansin barely moved in the sand, choosing instead to turn his body to face whichever way the Prince moved.

Dastan, confused, just ignored his words, waiting for an opportunity to swing in with his sword.

"Her life was spared, but her death was stolen," he went on, still just watching the Prince move around, his sword hanging deceptively relaxed in his hand.

"You're talking nonsense," Dastan spat.

His face contorted, and the Persian had to assume that the expression was meant to be a menacing smile. "The gods want their sacrifice."

Dastan blocked out his words and instead kept his ears open to listen to the battle that was still raging behind him – and it was fortunate that he did, for a loud yell and Tamina's cry made him turn around to see what was happening.

Tus was clutching at his chest, his face a mask of pain, and Tamina had been knocked to the ground. The cloaked figure wielding the whips sneered triumphantly down at the fallen pair and bent to collect something from the desert floor.

"Tamina!" the Hassansin forgotten, Dastan raced forward. As he ran, Garsiv came out of nowhere, swinging his blade high and plunging it straight into the whip-weilding Hassansin's back before drawing the sword free.

Dropping to the ground at her side, Dastan noticed the Dagger lying on the desert floor, already covered slightly by the sand kicked up in the fight. Snatching the hilt from the ground he brought it close, sliding it into the sash at his waist.

Garsiv's voice to his right made him turn around. Looking up he realised that what had struck Tus wasn't the whips, but the deadly silver blades. His heart stuttered and his eyes zeroed in on what had actually befallen their brother.

Four slithers of silver protruded from his chest.

Dastan scrambled over, knowing that Tamina was merely knocked unconscious but still breathing. Tus' breathing however was already weak and rasping.

"Dastan, I'm sorry for doubting you."

Blood bubbled from his lips as he spoke.

"Save your breath brother, he doesn't need your apologies," Garsiv said in a surprisingly soothing voice, his hands hovering over the darts as he clearly debated whether or not to tug them out.

"We'll get you home, Tus," Dastan told him as he sat helplessly by his side.

They couldn't do anything.

Tus shook his head, taking one last shallow breath to whisper, "Save the empire …"

Garsiv, shocked, stared down at their brother. But his expression slowly shifted, rage overcoming his features, and he let out a low growl. Clambering to his feet he brandished his sword, attacking the first black-garbed figure he saw.

Dastan stared down at their eldest brother while the battle raged around him, Garsiv and the few remaining Persian soldiers culling the Hassansins with bitter rage.

It seemed that the fury that renewed their strength was too much for the remaining enemy, as their leader was son seen striding away from the battle, yelling, "Out! Enough, out!"

Only two Hassansins as well as their leader remained, and those few scrambled for their scattered horses, mounting and tearing off across the desert, escaping the Persians and fleeing back toward Alamut.

Dastan had stayed where he sat, looking down at the lifeless form of Tus. Closing the eyes of his brother, he bowed his head and tried to hold in the tears that threatened to fall. _Not again,_ he thought. _Tus …_

Turning he moved back toward Tamina, cradling her head in his hands and brushing the sand from her face. Patting her shoulder softly, trying to rouse her, he breathed a sigh of relief when her eyes flickered open then widened in shock.

"Your brother …?" She whispered.

Dastan shook his head.

Tamina stared up at him, sorrow in her eyes, and said, "The dagger had no sand left, I couldn't save him. Then the Hassansin—"

Shaking his head, Dastan murmured, "There was nothing you could do."

Tamina understood better than he did. It had been Tus' time. It seemed that fate had decreed it.


	12. Chapter 12

Tired and in mourning, the three companions and two remaining Persian soldiers made camp for the evening. Nobody spoke much at all, and Tamina left the two brothers alone to grieve.

They rose at dawn the following morning, silently packing up and readying themselves for their journey ahead. They sent the two remaining Persian soldiers back to Nasaf with Tus' body to let the city know of the tragedy that befell their Prince and heir, and to warn the remaining Persian army of the Hassansin threat. As the soldiers took off across the desert, Dastan, Garsiv and Tamina waited with their horses, watching for as long as they could before the dunes obscured their view.

Neither brother moved, remaining stoic and staring at the horizon until the very last glimpse of the two riders disappeared. Without a word or a single tear, they turned as one and mounted their horses and turned back toward Alamut, starting on their journey once more. A new kind of determination seemed to fuel them, and though Tamina could have protested against the swift speed with which they crossed the desert, she held her tongue. This had become intensely personal for the two of them.

In the back of their minds, they all knew that they only followed in the Hassansins' wake and contemplated what would be awaiting them at the gates of Alamut once they arrived. It was all the more reason to travel swiftly to the Holy city.

* * *

xXx

* * *

But even the swiftest travellers needed to rest at some point. Pausing for camp the following night, just over a day since Tus' death, Dastan simply nodded when Garsiv said he was going to scout the area. Without asking he knew his brother wanted some time alone. Garsiv may have slain the man that took Tus' life, but it was clear that he was having a hard time dealing with the grief that was ripping through his body. Dastan understood that feeling well. He wanted to strike out at something, anything, but most of all he wanted to make Nizam pay for what he had caused. Again. He may have survived the misery of losing Tus once, but suffering through that pain again didn't make it any easier.

Once the sun had set, night fell quickly, but Garsiv still hadn't returned. Unperturbed, Dastan stayed where he was, tending to their horses before settling down beside the camp fire, idly shifting the logs and sending flickers of sparks shooting up into the night sky.

Tamina sat silently nearby, looking on.

He let his gaze stray to her face for a moment, noting the faraway look in her eyes, and wondered what was on her mind. A memory returned to him then, worse spoken to him in the heat of battle. With the stress and anguish after Tus' death distracting him, he had forgotten the Hassansin's words.

"He spoke to me," he told her, watching for her reaction.

His words seemed to startle her out of her thoughts, and she looked up a little wide-eyed. "Who?"

"The Hassansin, their leader, spoke to me. About you."

"What did he say?" She was frowning.

Dastan struggled to remember exactly what he'd been told. The words were like muddy water in his mind; clear one moment, then foggy and hidden the next. "That you'd angered the gods somehow. That … your death had been stolen from them." His eyes had drifted back to the flames of the fire, but once he'd recalled as much as he could he looked over at her again. "That they wanted their sacrifice."

Tamina sat in silence, worrying her lip with her teeth, and Dastan stayed quiet, letting her think. He watched as she drew out the dagger, turning it over in her hands, looking at the glass hilt and the jewel glow in the fire light. Her face looked troubled, but also confused.

Eventually she told him, "We need to get back to Alamut with all haste."

"But what did he mean?"

Tamina merely shook her head, her confused expression growing. "I don't know for sure. But if the gods are angered then there could be trouble with the sandglass." She frowned again, tracing the design on the blade of the dagger. "The seal holding the sands in the sandglass may be weakening?" She mused aloud, but eventually shook her head. "I don't know. But we need to find out."

Dastan nodded, having no clue as to what could really happen, but clearly understanding that whatever it was meant that they would need to get back to Alamut, and quickly.

Nizam and the sandglass awaited them.

Tamina had fallen quiet again, and as he gazed at her he saw soft tears begin to trickle slowly down her cheeks. "Tamina?" he queried, moving from his spot by the fire. Walking over to where she sat he crouched down in front of her, his closeness forcing her to look up and into his eyes.

"I've caused nothing but trouble," she whispered. "If my stupid actions bring destruction upon the earth then ..." Trailing off, not wanting to finish that sentence, she instead said, "And what of your brother? I used up the sands; if I hadn't then I could have saved him, I could have done something."

Dastan cupped her cheek in his hand, making a soft noise to soothe her and sat down at her side, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. "That's the point, isn't it? If you toy with time then what could change, what could happen? What if what comes to pass is better or worse?" Squeezing her shoulder slightly, he told her, "You convinced Garsiv of our tale; you gained us another ally. The three of us can now travel back to your home and tell my father of what happened, and we can see Nizam finished once and for all."

Tamina sniffed, letting the tears fall, staring into the fire. "I'm sorry, Dastan."

Dastan nodded, leaning forward to press his lips to her temple. "I am too."

They stayed that way until Garsiv returned.

* * *

xXx

* * *

Tethering their horses in a thicket mostly obscured from the view of even the highest watchtower in the city, Garsiv, Dastan and Tamina carefully made their way back to the hidden thatch through which Dastan and Tamina had originally fled the city. The ground around it had settled, making it almost impossible to be found by anyone except those who already knew of its whereabouts.

"There are dark banners hanging from the gates," said Garsiv, who was looking up at the gate that towered above them not too far away. Wide cloth banners hung limply from the wooden gate doors, not even stirring in the light breeze that blew through the area. Against the metal and wood, contrasted with the light clay fortified wall around it, the colour was a stark indication of what lay within the city.

The Princess followed his gaze, pausing when her eyes fell on the dull cloth. "The city must be in mourning," she murmured.

"Mourning?" Both Persians turned to face her, Dastan's gaze seeking hers.

"If there is a death among the Priests and Guardians of the temple or the royal family, they hang banners outside the city for the townspeople and farmers to see," she told them sadly.

She didn't look too worried about the prospect of a death to someone close to her, but Dastan had to ask. "So, your family …?"

Tamina shook her head. "No, I'm the last in my line. It would have to be for one of the Guardian families." That explained why she appeared fairly calm at that moment, though clearly the thought still saddened her.

"Guardian _families_?" Was his next question, asked more from curiosity.

Smiling softly, she said, "Remind me to tell you more once this is all over."

Nodding, Dastan hoped there would be a time after all of this when they could talk, and hopefully discover more than just the necessary basics about each others' lives, without the threat of impeding doom looming over them. Such a thing seemed impossible right now.

Garsiv turned back after one last gaze at the city, saying, "We should hurry."

Wrenching the thatch door open they descended the stone stairs into the passageway, Dastan chuckled when his brother commented on the poor conditions of the passage around them. Both Princes moved aside to allow Tamina first, following her through the narrow and ancient tunnels to wherever she chose to lead them.

"This is a rabbit warren," Garsiv muttered darkly at one point, after stumbling on a dislodged tree root. "Which fits, because only a rabbit would be able to fit through some of these damned paths."

A faintly lit crossroads loomed ahead, which they assumed must lie directly beneath the city judging from the distance they had already moved. Three tunnels lead away from their current position, but one old stone staircase rose directly before them, scaling toward a large mural carving on the stone wall above.

"This leads to the base of the grand temple," Tamina told them, stepping up onto the bottom stair. "We can speak to my people and reach the sandglass chamber from here."

Without questioning her, Dastan nodded, moving forward to start up the stairs as well, until Garsiv's words held him back.

"Dastan, what of our father? What of Nizam?"

Garsiv stood still in the centre of the open area, clearly resistant to the idea that they should tend to the possible predicament within the temple first. Dastan too felt the need to speak with their father, to determine what had been happening in their absence, but he knew that their biggest problem lay with the Sands of Time. "Nizam can't do anything while we still hold the dagger," he told his brother. "We'll speak to whoever Tamina can find, determine what Nizam's actions have been, then Tamina will go to the Sandglass chamber while we see to our own business." Looking up at Tamina to confirm, she hesitated slightly before nodded just once.

They both looked back at Garsiv who sighed, his gaze trailing toward the tunnels that must lead to elsewhere beneath the city. He struggled with some internal indecision for a moment, but then stepped toward them. "Speak to your people and check on your sand. Then we need to find Father and finish this."

Hearing a soft sigh of relief behind him, Dastan turned to face Tamina who lead the way up the stair case to what he could now see was a large stone door.

Studying the carvings that started on the door then flowed over to the adjoining walls, he watched as she reached forward and traced her fingers against the design. Finding a knot in the wall, she pressed her hand in harder and a grinding noise echoed around them as the old mechanism moved to slide the door open. However their eyes were only met with woven mesh when the doorway was revealed, until Tamina pushed the concealing tapestry aside, looking out into the corridor beyond to check for any signs of movement. Signalling that the way was clear, she stepped out onto the marble floor, the two Princes following shortly behind her, and Dastan stopped to make sure the tapestry covered their entrance before they continued on.

The trio tread softly through the marble hallways, Dastan and Garsiv following the Princess blindly as she weaved through archways and grand halls toward some destination unknown to them. They walked together through the corridors of the temple, eyes and ears tuned to any sound nearby, until they saw an older woman hurrying through an adjoining corridor ahead of them. Tamina paused, holding up her hand to stop the two males' steps. Looking curiously at the woman just before she disappeared from view again, Tamina called out to her.

"Priestess Ellera?"

The sound of echoing footsteps stopped, and the old woman retraced her steps, appearing back at the end of the hallway. "Princess?" She called curiously, and slowly started to walk toward their group.

Garsiv's hand instinctively dropped to his sword, but Dastan stayed his hand. This elderly woman was not a threat.

The Princess walked toward the other woman, her steps quickening the closer they became. "Ellera," she whispered again, and threw her arms around the older woman.

The Priestess moved to embrace her, but when her eyes landed on the two Persian Princes she froze, looking curiously between her Princess and the other two. "Where have you been?" She asked Tamina quietly. "What happened to the … to the item?"

"Ellera, it is fine," Tamina promised her, gesturing for the two Princes to step forward. "We three have been on the run, protecting the dagger." She asked Dastan to show the Priestess the dagger and he did so, while Garsiv just stood by and watched the exchange, silent.

He had been quiet ever since Tus' death.

"But what is happening here?" Tamina asked. "We spoke to—"

Priestess cut her off, motioning to be quiet. "Not here, come with me." The old woman turned and hurried away, surprisingly quickly for someone her age, and led them through the temple to a prayer room, checking the halls outside the door before closing it behind them. "I am sorry, but we have been worried, Princess. The priests who guard the passages to the chamber have said worrying things about the—" But she broke off then, again looking over at the two Persians, loathe to speak around them.

Sighing, Tamina told her, "It is ok, they know."

Ellera looked taken aback by her words, and stuttered out, "Th-they _know_?"

"Yes, we know all about your precious sand," Garsiv interrupted, growing tired of the time they were wasting just standing around when he could be exacting revenge from Nizam's hide for their brother's death. "Now would you hurry this up? We have other matters to attend to."

Dastan was torn. He'd spent so long helping Tamina protect the dagger and the Sandglass, but he agreed with Garsiv. They had to hurry. Nizam had to pay.

The priestess nodded once, continuing. "But we have not been able to see to the sandglass since, as the Persians have been guarding our temple, not allowing us to leave, questioning us constantly for the death."

"We saw the banners outside the city," the Princess said slowly, another frown marring her features. "I suspected one of the guardians had passed, but if the Persians are questioning you …"

Dastan frowned as well, looking from Tamina's confused face to the Priestess' sorrowful one.

"Who died, Ellera?"

The Priestess looked toward the Persians, fear in her eyes. "We had no hand in this. I swear we were not involved."

"In what?" Dastan demanded.

It seemed that Garsiv had finally had enough of their antics, as he then snapped, "Tell us what happened, woman."

Priestess lifted her chin. "We are not to blame. The King's brother calls for our heads, saying we exacted revenge for the taking of our city, but we were never unkind to him." Her face softened momentarily and she whispered, "From his arrival he was only apologetic, asking forgiveness for his army's acts against our city."

Dastan froze, Garsiv's eyes narrowed, and Tamina's hands lifted to cover her mouth, her eyes wide.

"Ellera," Tamina whispered. "Who …?"

"The Persian King."

At first nobody spoke and nobody moved. Dastan felt weak, his mind already crying out, '_No_'. A sinking feeling overwhelmed him, and he almost dropped to his knees as the pain began to hit his heart.

The man who had cared for him, who had taken him in and given him everything, had been slain.

The harsh sound of heavy breathing began to fill the room, and Dastan turned to look at his brother. Garsiv's face was a mask of rage. "It wasn't you temple people. It was our Uncle." He spat at the ground, his eyes ablaze. "I want him dead." Facing Dastan, he said, "I want him to pay."

Then he moved past them, jerking the door open and dashing out into the hallway.

"Garsiv, wait!"

Dastan pushed past Tamina to get to the doorway, looking out at Garsiv as he ran down the marble hall. Glancing back at the two women left in the room, he spared one last look at Tamina before he made chase.

"Princess …"

He heard Tamina's voice, echoing through the hallway, as she moved to follow as well. "Ellera, we must leave. Please, look after our people."

"But Princess! The Sandglass!"

Rounding a corner and seeing his brother disappearing around another up ahead, he stopped paying attention to what was happening behind him. He had to ensure that his brother didn't do anything stupid in his haste for revenge.

* * *

xXx

* * *

Tamina stopped in her tracks, watching helplessly as Dastan ran off to chase after his brother, before looking back at the older woman. "Please Ellera, quickly."

"Princess, the seal binding the sands within the glass … something has happened. It is as if someone is using the dagger, but there is no one. You have had the dagger all this time."

Frowning, thinking over the old woman's words, she shook her head and said, "I don't understand."

"The glass is cracking, Princess," Ellera finally told her. "All by itself."

Tamina gasped. The sandglass was failing, and if that happened then the sands would no longer be contained. They would all be in grave danger

"The priests have been praying to the gods, hoping for some kind of message. But they only receive images of the small child, the first guardian, and then … and then you. With the dagger …" she trailed off, gesturing at Tamina's hands. They were seeing images of Tamina's foiled sacrifice. "Princess, what happened while you were gone?"

"I … I tried to use the dagger to … to …" But she couldn't finish. What had she done?

The Priestess' face fell. "That's it then. I suppose one of the Princes used the dagger, erasing your actions?"

Tamina could only nod numbly.

"Then your sacrifice was stolen from the gods. It must be their anger that is making the Sandglass react so. Their anger is weakening its power."

"What do we do?"

"What can we do? If the sandglass fails …"

A violent roar echoed through the halls of the temple, and Tamina was dragged from her terrifying thoughts. Garsiv. _Dastan_. If their uncle used the dagger to harness the powers of the Sandglass, the glass could crack completely, condemning them all to death.

He had to be stopped at all costs.

"I must go." Turning, she hurried to leave the room, but stopped at the elder's voice.

"Princess?" Meeting Ellera's eyes, seeing the concern in them, she simply nodded when the woman told her to be careful, then left.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** I have sad news for everyone … next chapter will be the last. It's been very difficult for me to finish this chapter, because I have had the final chapter drafted for a couple of months now. Finishing this meant that I'd be so close to finishing Traitor completely … and I don't want to!_


	13. Chapter 13

Charging through the marble hallways, grim determination set into every line of his body, Garsiv felt a rage like nothing he had ever experienced before surging through him. Their Uncle had taken everything from him, starting first with his littlest brother – who should not have had to go so far before they believed him – then his eldest brother, and now their father. That bastard would damn their entire existence, desecrating everything that had ever called family, just for his own selfish gain.

Nizam would pay.

Spying a large set of double doors down a short corridor to his right, Garsiv moved swiftly toward them, ignoring Dastan's calls behind him. Now was not the time for thinking. Now was the time for revenge.

Nizam would pay with his life.

Pressing his hands to the ornate wooden handles, he pushed the doors wide, sending them swinging on their hinges and slamming against the walls opposite. The noise was more than enough to attract the attention of the man standing in the middle of the room.

The man waited there with a malicious grin on his face, a sword already clutched tightly in his hand.

"Little nephew," the man drawled, spreading his arms wide. "How kind of you to join me." His gaze veered to the side slightly, looking at a point past Garsiv's shoulder. "And you brought the whelp with you … dagger and all. Delivering the very item I seek straight into my arms? Not the wisest move."

Dastan moved to stand at his side, drawing his blades and staring at their Uncle with hatred. "Neither was killing our father. Or our brother."

Shaking his head, Nizam slowly started to step away from them, walking nonchalantly to the side of the room. "Poor Tus. He was always so eager to please your father and I. The foolish boy would have severed his own head if it would greater serve the Empire."

The two Princes stalked forward, side by side, pursuing Nizam as he crossed the room.

"He loved and respected you," Garsiv spat. "And you did nothing but betray him."

"Tus got what he deserved!" Nizam retorted, finally reaching the wall to his right. Leaning casually into an alcove, he softly added, "As will the two of you."

A soft grinding sound began, and the brothers looked around in confusion. Garsiv's eyes then darted back to their Uncle in time to see him slipping through a narrow gap in the wall, one that hadn't been there moments before.

"Dastan, the wall!" He warned, rushing forward even as he heard the mechanism's growl start again, and watched as the door closed before he could even reach it. "Damn it!" Slamming a hand against the smooth marble, he couldn't even see a crease in the wall where the opening might have been. "Nizam!" He yelled out, unsure if their Uncle would be able to hear him.

"He's gone down to the Sandglass chamber."

It was the Princess. Turning around, looking first at his brother then at Tamina, Garsiv managed to nod at her, biting out, "Lead us there," through his gritted teeth.

Her gaze strayed to Dastan for a moment. "But the dagger—"

Shaking his head, he cut her off and said, "We're bringing it with us."

"My people would be able to protect it," Tamina replied, frowning.

"We are _not_ leaving that thing lying around if it's what our Uncle needs to corrupt history. I want it where I can see it." And that was final.

She stayed thankfully silent for a moment, just looking between him and Dastan, before nodding. "It's this way."

* * *

xXx

* * *

"This is a trap," she whispered, descending the stairwell after Dastan, squinting in the flickering light of the lit torch he carried.

"Then it's one we have to fall into, Princess," said Garsiv, pushing past her and stepping behind his brother. "If we have to take the bait for Nizam's head to roll, then so be it."

Shudder at his deadly serious tone, Tamina quietly pointed out, "Neither of you know which way to go." They had both moved in front of her in their haste to reach the Sandglass Chamber and confront their Uncle.

But Garsiv was single-minded, completely focussed on tracking down Nizam; he wasn't in the mood. "It's a staircase, Princess, there's only one way it can go."

Stifling her nervous giggle when they reached the bottom of the enclosed flight of stairs, finding an odd kind of justice in the moment, Tamina moved in front of the two men who had stopped and paused when they entered a large, ancient underground hall. Curved arches towered over them, disappearing into an inky darkness above. They had travelled so far under the surface that the light from their fiery torch didn't even reach the ceiling of this below-ground room.

From the look of surprise on Dastan's face, he hadn't been here during his travels in his time.

"The temple was built directly above the Sandglass, above passageways and structures built by the Guardians to access its chamber," she told them, venturing forward, not needing the soft light of the torch to know where she needed to go. "Most of it has crumbled and fallen over the years, but we try to maintain what is left."

"Enough with the history lessons," Garsiv snapped, urging her forward. "Just show us where Nizam is."

"… I'm closer than you might think …" Came the echoing reply of a voice.

_Nizam._ She had only seen the man's face once, and the hard set of his jaw and the cold depths of his eyes as he had stared at her from within the Royal Chamber of her family's palace had not endeared him to her. His voice slithered down her spine, making her shudder, and beside her she could hear both Persians gripping the hilts of their swords in preparation for an attack.

"The Sandglass chamber is through those doors," she told them, pointing ahead to where they could now see two grand double doors rising before them. "Then just follow the balcony."

Her gaze strayed to where the Dagger of Time sat at Dastan's side, then up to meet his eyes. "This is it." His voice was just a murmur, but in the great hall around them it sounded strangely loud to her ears.

Garsiv drew his sword, a grim determination etched across his face. "You're about to meet your maker, Nizam!"

A sneering laughter filled the hall around them as they pushed the doors open.

* * *

xXx

* * *

The throbbing hum of the Sandglass reached them as soon as they opened those doors, and its iridescent glow warmed the rocky surfaces around them. Drawing his sword, Dastan followed Garsiv as they moved past the Princess, following the crumbling balcony around until the Sandglass itself came into view. It rose before them, towering high above in its case of glass and rock. The sands within churned with an unholy fierceness, seemingly burning from within.

But in the bright glow of the chamber they weren't paying attention to what lay hidden in the gloom of the rocky edge next to them.

From behind the shadow of a protruding rock Nizam stepped forward, his sword swinging down in a wide arc, catching both men by surprise and drawing a shriek from Tamina's lips.

"You're more foolish than I thought," said their Uncle, brandishing a second short sword that he held in his other hand, stepping slowly in a circle around them, carefully retreating back toward the Sandglass. "And you Garsiv? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. This gutter-trash and his Princess have corrupted you."

Garsiv let out a low growl, stalking forward with deadly intent. "You murdered your own family," he spat, ignoring Nizam's words. "Sharaman was your brother!"

Pausing for just a moment, the sneer dropped from Nizam's face as he murmured, "And my curse."

Taking advantage Garsiv lunged forward, but Nizam deflected his attack, following through with another jab to his side with the short sword. Catching Garsiv off guard, Dastan watched as his brother stumbled and fell into the rock face at their right.

"Nizam!" Dastan yelled, darting forward to engage his Uncle. "I looked up to you."

Better matched for his Uncle's two swords as he carried his own twin blades, Dastan easily parried the swift blows dealt to him.

"And for all those years, I had to stay silent when I detested your very existence. I never understood why my brother brought trash into the palace."

Recovered, Garsiv chose that moment to move in, but Nizam was quicker to react than he expected. Blocking his swing, then darting to move out of the way of Dastan's following attack, Nizam rushed back closer toward the Sandglass again. Swords held ready, he watched the two Princes with a wild determination as they each closed in on him, drawing nearer and nearer to the Sandglass itself.

"Just hand over the dagger, Dastan, and we can forget this whole debacle ever happened."

"You'll have to pry it from my dead hands!" He replied, their swords clashing together once more.

A sneer overcame Nizam's face, and he said, "That can be arranged," before slashing forward with the shorter sword.

Not prepared for the attack, Dastan had to react quickly, barely stopping the blade before it bit into the skin of his side. As their swords met, the ringing sound of metal on metal echoing in the air, Dastan felt his shoulder flare in pain and then a cold numbing feeling skated down his skin. Gritting his teeth against the jarring agony, he used all his might to push Nizam away from him, but cursed when the fingers of his left hand could no longer grip the hilt of his sword.

"Dastan?" Garsiv's voice was tinged with alarm, but he had eyes only for his Uncle, who swivelled to attack once more.

Tamina, forgotten until then, rushed forward to see to him. "Your shoulder …" she whispered, lightly touching the bandage they had wrapped his arm in just that morning.

Letting out a strained laugh, he asked her, "Is that concern I hear?"

Her expression softened as she met his eyes. "Caution. If anything happens to you, I'll be left with Garsiv."

The reminder of another time, of similar words and similar situations, raced through his mind, but before he could reply the Princess' gaze skittered to the side and her eyes widened.

"Dastan, the Sandglass!"

Looking up, he finally saw what she saw, what the Priestess and the Hassansins had warned them of. A single jagged line tore through the glass, small cobweb-like splinters shooting off from that one fault.

The Sandglass had started to crack, but the sands were still contained - for the moment.

Tearing his gaze away from it he looked over at the circling duo in front of them. Swords clashed, metal against metal, parted, circled, clashed again. Dastan stood watching, holding one blade tightly in his right hand, the other hanging limply at his side. "Garsiv!" He called when there was an opening. His brother looked up, and Dastan gripped one of the blades then flung it through the air toward him.

Garsiv deftly caught the blade, turning on Nizam with a vicious smile. "Now we're on an even playing field."

"Come on," Dastan said, taking Tamina's hand and hurrying across the make-shift rock bridge to the Sandglass.

"If you're going to do something, Dastan," Garsiv called after them, pressing Nizam back and away, stopping him from advancing toward the couple. "Make it quick!"

"Do something?" He asked, looking up and up and up at the glass container that now burned beside him. "Tamina." Looking down again, meeting her eyes as he clutched at his shoulder with one hand, he pleaded, "Do something."

It seemed that she'd been entertaining the same thoughts. But what to do? Even now as they stood there staring helplessly at first the warring men locked in battle, then at the powerful bulk of treasured sand next to them, they could hear the chilling crack of glass splitting open. The longer they stood there, waiting, the more the rip in the glass stretched.

"You said ..." Taking a deep breath, Tamina cast one fearful last look at Garsiv and Nizam, locked in their vicious battle of swords, before training her gaze onto Dastan's features. "You said that the Sandglass only cracked, that with the short amount of time you turned back it didn't shatter completely."

Dastan stared down at her, unsure what she meant at first, almost dreading what she could be thinking. "It didn't shatter. I don't know how close it came to doing so, but it didn't. But Tamina …" Looking above them at how brittle the glass was, the Prince didn't know if the Sandglass could withstand even a moment of the dagger's power.

"Too many people have died," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the growl of the Sands and the clash of swords. "You've lost too much, and I … there is no way to stop the Armageddon that is sure to come when the glass shatters completely."

The pain from the loss of his eldest brother and his father returned at her words, and even if they were to overcome Nizam and overthrow him they would still be facing the inevitable wrath of the Gods once the sands broke free of the divine seal that could no longer contain them.

"Tamina," he murmured, shaking his head. "We—"

"You could go back," she whispered, moving closer to him, placing a hand softly on his arm, over where his own hand clutched at the aching wound. "We could erase this time, start again."

"I don't want to turn this back, not again," he said over the threatening hum of the Sandglass towering above them. "I don't want to lose you, Tamina, I don't want you to forget." He couldn't bear the thought of living through the pain of her lack of memory again. "I'm not letting you go."

A sad smile graced her lips, despite the danger they were in, and the Princess stepped forward, her hand sliding up his arm until it rested against his cheek. "Then take me with you," she told him, staring up into his eyes. "As a Guardian I have trained my mind to hear Destiny's call, to be open to the Gods' messages. Let me pierce the Sandglass, Dastan. Let me go with you."

The dreams ... "But what will happen next time? How many weeks do we have to spend running around the world trying to protect it from my Uncle? How many more times must I go through with this?"

"Trust me Dastan," she whispered, rubbing her thumb against his rough cheek, looking up at him with hope.

And love.

It was the last that made him decide, a last flicker of emotion that made him give in and relinquish his fears. Dropping his hand to tug the dagger from its resting place, he held it out to her; a wordless agreement. Smiling, giving way to the tears that she had held on to, Tamina took the dagger from his grasp, raised it high, and slid it home.

Lifting one hand to cover hers, the other wrapping around her frame and dragging her close, Dastan leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, just as he flipped the jewelled seal of the dagger.

The first loud _crack!_ sounded through the air, and the Sandglass slowly ripped apart above them, its surface already beginning the playback of their lives together over the last few weeks. Flashes of Garsiv's face, of the Hassansins, of hot deserts and terrifying moments of pain blazed across the face of the glass, and the two of them looked up to watch the display.

Not far away, Garsiv and Nizam broke apart, their Uncle staring at them in horror. "_No!_"

"Goodbye," Tamina whispered as the Sands spilled from the dagger's hilt, sending its powerful contents ricocheting around the chamber.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**__ Oh god, I didn't want this to end! I hope you enjoyed Dastan and Tamina's journey as they thwarted his Uncle a second time around. Since before the start of writing this piece, I toyed with the idea of leaving Dastan in a time loop, forever destined to fight his Uncle and help Tamina save the world from her Gods, but wasn't sure if I actually liked the idea. However, with how the story progressed, this ending appealed to me more and more._

_But just like how I felt when the movie ended, I really dislike leaving things as they are - and because of that, I'm outlining a story for a sequel! Keep an eye out for "Return" ;) This next story will contain a lot of elements that I wrote into "Destiny", but will follow a bit of a different storyline than what I originally intended for D._

_Thank you to everyone who read this story, and thank you very much for all your comments, reviews, PMs, suggestions, and kind words along the way. Special thanks to the select few who were sweet enough to leave comments for me after every update. Without you guys I wouldn't have been able to continue as I have :)_


End file.
